Lose, Lost, Lost
by Zuzivlas
Summary: Collection of stories based on the idea that in each story 1 or more musketeers lose various things from common items to senses to abstract things. Non slash and probably quite Aramis heavy; 2011 movie verse; some chapters will be M rated
1. Aramis, Eyesight Part 1

_A/N Explanation time... right, this series will feature fics based on the idea that 1 or more of the musketeers loses something. They will be varied in tone from angsty to comedic to friendship to anything else I will feel like._

_The stories will be based on the 2011 movie most of the time though I might ignore the ending in regards to Buckingham charging to war and Rochefort dying._

_Every chapter title will include the name of the musketeer who lost something plus the lost item. In case a story will be over 1 chapter, the name will also include the number e.g. the Aramis eyesight story is planned to have 3 or 4 parts, hence this chapter being called Aramis, Eyesight Part 1._

_Both encouragement and constructive criticism are very much welcome though outright flaming will be ignored ;)_

* * *

><p>Why could a mission never go smoothly? Athos had been asking himself that very question for the last few hours. They were soldiers and every single one of them was prepared to die for the king, queen or their beloved France but every now and then, one of them would get hurt and the possibility of losing their best friends became just that little more real. Those were the worst of times because for all their bravado and bravery, they all turned into worried mother hens when one of their own got hurt. And with their lifestyles, it happened far too often for everybody's liking.<p>

Today had been no different even if at first it appeared like an easy enough mission. The quartet had been sent to a small town just a few hours outside of Paris to investigate a band of bandits who had been terrorizing the citizens. In reality, there were suspicions that they were in fact English spies and the musketeers were sent to find out the truth and eliminate the threat under the disguise of protecting the town's people. For 3 days they had been observing the troupe and all four had to agree that these were indeed more than just mere bandits. However, before they could find out who they were working for and what was their objective, a minor mistake blew their cover. They weren't the worst odds the four had ever faced, in fact the odds were quite good with the bandits outnumbering them only 5 to 1 but lady luck had definitely abandoned them that day. D'Artagnan was his usual energetic self jumping from bandit to bandit with more heart than style; Porthos was bludgeoning the enemy with everything he could find within reach, he always left his sword only to worst case scenarios. Athos himself had been fighting with deadly efficiency and taking care of his last opponent, he checked up on his friends. D'Artagnan was practically finished and Porthos was mostly just playing with the 2 bandits he had left so there wasn't much reason for concern. Aramis was engaged with 3 bandits of his own and while he seemed to be doing alright, Athos couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It became frighteningly clear what as Aramis dispatched of one of his opponents giving Athos a clear view of the fallen spy on the ground. He wasn't dead, just wounded and currently aiming his musket at Aramis. His blood running cold, Athos quickly took out the dagger from his belt and threw it hoping he wouldn't be too late. The dagger hit its target, only not as precisely as Aramis himself would have been able to achieve. Athos did however manage to hit the spy's shoulder thus altering his aim significantly. Seconds later a large explosion could be heard as the bullet hit the keg behind Aramis and the last 2 bandits. Regaining his footing, Athos felt himself freeze at the sound of agony filled screams he quickly identified as Aramis'. Forcing himself back into motion, he ran to the heap of bodies where he last saw Aramis stand. Falling to his knees by his friend, Athos instantly realized a few things. The keg must have been filled with gun powder to cause such an explosion; the only reason Aramis was still alive was the smoking corpse of the bandit who had been standing between the musketeer and the keg thus protecting him from most of the impact; and lastly, that there were still some parts of Aramis that hadn't been protected, most prominently his eyes. Currently, he was holding them with his hands in pain but even so the blackened skin around them that was bleeding in places from splinters was visible.

His gut clenching in fear, Athos grabbed hold of Aramis' hands using his greater strength to pull them away from his face. He could feel his stomach turning at the sight that met him and promptly tore off part of the bandit's shirt to create a makeshift bandage. By the time Porthos and D'Artagnan got to them, Aramis' eyes had been covered and Athos was barking orders left and right to get them moving. Time was essential and since it would take at least 3 hours of riding to get back to Paris, they couldn't afford to lose any more. Cradling the fallen musketeer in his arms he ordered D'Artagnan to get their horses while he explained to Porthos what to do next. Since the former priest wouldn't be able to ride on his own and they would be too heavy with Porthos while D'Artagnan wouldn't be able to hold him for so long, it was only logical that he should ride with Athos. He quickly told Porthos how to hand him Aramis once he was sitting on his horse. Nodding in understanding, Porthos took Aramis from Athos doing his best to stop him from struggling so he wouldn't hurt himself even more. By the time they did this, D'Artagnan was on his way back with the horses.

The moment he reached them, Athos quickly jumped onto his own horse, stretching his arms out for the precious cargo that Porthos carried with infinite care. So far, Aramis wasn't reacting to any of them, just gasping and moaning in pain which made the giant worry for his best friend. Once Aramis was sitting in front of Athos, he rested him against his chest as comfortably as he could and kicked his horse into gear, not waiting for the other 2 because he knew they would catch up with them. Without any words but exchanging looks full of concern, Porthos and D'Artagnan jumped onto their own horses and rode away, the younger making sure to grab the reins of Aramis' steed before leaving.

About halfway back home, Athos felt his friend relaxing against his chest and realized that Aramis had passed out since he stopped making any sounds. Taking this as a bad sign he willed his horse to run faster still. He didn't even realize that he held his friend even more tightly to his chest as if he could protect him from the pain. By the time they entered Paris, they split up with D'Artagnan hurrying to fetch the doctor as Porthos and Athos rode hard to their house. In the back of their mind they hoped that they hadn't injured anybody with their mad dash through the city, several people had to jump away from their path, but they had much more important matters at hand.

Stopping before their house door, Porthos jumped off his horse and took Aramis into his arms from Athos. Kicking the door open he carried the unconscious musketeer upstairs to his room, marvelling for a second at how light Aramis felt in his arms and that they ought to feed their friend more. By the time he managed to undress him down to his breeches for greater comfort, Athos had led the horses to their stable and joined him after barking at Planchet to wait for D'Artagnan's return. It didn't take long for the youngest to arrive with the doctor, Aramis' spare horse definitely made their journey faster. Within moments he ran up the stairs and began examining the patient. Since the room was far too overcrowded, and Athos didn't want his friends to witness what he did, he told Porthos and D'Artagnan to wait outside while he helped the doctor. Reluctant to leave their fallen comrade but listening to reason, both of them shuffled out of the room and went in search of some strong alcohol. Wine wouldn't be enough right now.

They were both sick with anxiety when they heard Aramis scream but forced themselves to stay where they were. Knowing they had no way of helping their friend made both of them feel absolutely useless. After what appeared like an eternity during which Porthos managed to practically dent the floor with his pacing, the doctor slowly descended the steps, his face looking grim. D'Artagnan had to grab onto Porthos to prevent him from jumping onto the poor doctor as he sat down before them and cleaning his glassed began to explain.

"I did what I could but I'm afraid that young Aramis has a hard time before him."

His words only intensified their unease.

"Athos explained what happened and based on the injuries that Aramis sustained, I fear for his eyesight. The explosion must have hit him right in his face and while I have no doubt that the burns and cuts will heal fine, I cannot say for certain that he will ever see as well as before, if at all. I have cleaned his eyes out and applied healing salve; I will mix you more that you can come pick up tomorrow. His eyes need to stay bandaged for at least 2 weeks during which you need to clean them with water, apply salve and redress once a day, Athos knows how. If there are any complications, fetch me at once; otherwise I shall return in 2 weeks and check on Aramis' progress. Until then, I need you to take good care of him as he will not only be in great pain but rendered blind for the time being. I trust he is in good hands."

With the grim news the doctor left, once again repeating that the salve would be ready by tomorrow afternoon. A great dread soaked the whole house with the prospect of Aramis never healing as Porthos and D'Artagnan walked to his room to check up on him.


	2. Aramis, Eyesight Part 2

Disoriented, that was the first semi coherent thought and feeling he had once the dark cloud covering his mind lifted somewhat. He still felt a bit floaty, like slowly waking up from a deep dream as fragments of memories began flashing before his mind's eye. He recalled a fight though for the life of him he couldn't remember who he was fighting with. He seemed to remember shouting and then there was a flash of light and after that just darkness and pain. No, not pain but agony. He moaned lightly as the pain began creeping into his consciousness reminding him that he wasn't OK and that something did in fact happen. His eyes were burning and for some reason he couldn't open them. Before his hand reached his head, his weak movement was stopped by another, larger and much stronger hand although it held him gently.

"Good morning Aramis. How are you feeling?"

He instantly recognized Porthos' voice but there was something off about it. The fact that Porthos was right next to him as he slept and greeted him was odd in on itself but there was something about the way he sounded... yes, there was worry in there, and a slight hint of relief. The pieces slowly falling into place, Aramis realized he must have been hurt and badly at that if Porthos was both so worried about him that he stayed by his side and obviously relieved that he woke up.

"Honestly? Like you ran me over with that mighty horse of yours, repeatedly."

He couldn't believe just how weak and hoarse his own voice sounded, no wonder Porthos was concerned.

"Say Porthos, where are we? It is unusually dark in here."

For a few moments he got no answer other than some noises that indicated the giant was squirming in his seat, followed by a rather awkward sounding cough. That couldn't be good.

"Porthos, what's wrong? It's-"

His eyes were burning, it was dark but Porthos must have seen him alright to catch his hand before, he had been injured and his friend didn't want to answer his question. At times, Aramis hated his fast working brain.

"It's not really dark in here is it, it's just me."

"Well, um, you see... yes."

Bracing himself for the worst, he put on his brave face and asked in as much of a steady voice as he could muster.

"What happened to me?"

"The thing is, I'm not sure how to, perhaps I'm not the best person to explain?"

He could hear the unease in his friend's voice but his patience had run out and he needed answers.

"Is anybody else in this room besides us?"

"No-"

"Then tough luck. Explain."

"What do you remember?"

He could hear the defeat in Porthos' voice and imagined his shoulders slumping as his usually vibrant eyes lost their shine. He almost felt bad for snapping but he needed to know the truth.

"We were on a mission, something went wrong and they found us, we fought. Most of it is really hazy but I seem to remember a flash of light and after that just darkness, like the one right now. And pain, lots of pain."

"There... was an accident. You were fighting 3 of the spies when Athos noticed a fallen one aiming his musket at you. He threw his dagger at him at once but while it made him miss you, he managed to shoot the barrel of gun powder behind you. Unknowingly, one of the spies protected you from most of the blast with his body but unfortunately, your face hadn't been covered."

That explained rather a lot and though Aramis had a good idea of where it was going, he waited for Porthos to continue.

"Your eyes, they were burned badly. You were screaming when we got to you, you probably didn't even know we were there. We rode back to Paris as quickly as we could and fetched the doctor. He examined you and gave us a salve for your eyes but he said that for 2 weeks, they need to be bandaged. He thinks you will make a full recovery though."

He thinks, Porthos he said that he _thinks_, not he _told_ us, not he _was sure_. Alarming bells rang all over Aramis' head reminding him of the headache he currently had. Moaning lightly he once again moved his hand to his face, this time Porthos didn't stop him. He felt the bandages covering the upper half of it.

"I'm sorry."

For a second, he felt despair and self-pity filling his whole body. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair that he may never see again or that his eyesight might be so impaired that he might as well be blind. It wasn't fair that his days as a musketeer could very well be over since he would be of no use with such an impairment. It wasn't fair that that he had been facing the barrel when it exploded. But... but he could have been dead if what Porthos said was true. He certainly didn't remember a spy lying on the ground and pointing a musket at him. Without the interference, he wouldn't have been blind, he would have been shot. And there were no guarantees that he wouldn't recover. It was possible. And if it was possible, he would keep his faith in the Lord and pray every day and remain strong. Yes, he would not wallow in dark thoughts and just get used to this temporary situation for it _was_ temporary, he had to believe that.

"Don't be, I could have been dead but I'm not. Athos saved my life."

Aramis could swear he heard a sniff at the word dead.

"Oh you big oaf, come here. I'm not dead, I'm not dying. I'll be fine, just you see. You'll have me back on your arse in no time."

He could feel his ribs almost cracking from the bear hug he had received and decided to ignore the slight wetness on his neck where Porthos rested his head. Gently patting his friend on his back while murmuring reassurances he wasn't sure he believed himself, he wondered how come that he was the one consoling and not the one being consoled. Ah well, he'll just have to get Porthos to make it up to him. He would probably start the moment his friend collected himself again.

Hearing more sniffling once he had been allowed to breathe again, he gave Porthos a few more moments before speaking up.

"Porthos?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you for something?"

"Anything my dear friend."

"I, er, can you help me navigate to the loo?"

Porthos wanted to laugh in relief when he saw Aramis almost blushing because of the request. But he realized that that's how it would be for a while, them leading Aramis around the house. It would definitely be a challenge but it was good to see his friend up and about, even if he needed some help.

* * *

><p>The first day of Aramis being conscious again had been difficult for everybody. While it was great news that he was no longer unresponsive to anything but intense pain, the guys walked around him on eggshells, unsure what to do, how to do it and most importantly what to say. Had the situation been different, Aramis would have found their antics most hilarious. Like this however, he was slowly getting used to his new life. Very early he realized a few things about his condition. Number one and quite importantly, as much as he thought that he knew their little house inside and out, he had been incredibly mistaken. He had already managed to lose his way at least 5 times and that was with all the musketeers and Planchet present. He dreaded to think how it would go once the trio had to go back to their duties. Mentally calculating the steps it took him to get just about everywhere, Aramis began adjusting his mental map of the place.<p>

Number two, Athos had the guilt trip of the century and so far none of them had been able to get him out of it. For most of the day, he had been actively avoiding Aramis once he made sure he was as well as could be expected. Of course, that wasn't really a difficult task at all as Aramis couldn't see and most of the time had to focus so much on remembering where exactly he was, he tended to miss the presence of the others in the room. He had almost cornered Athos once but the slimy bastard ran away before the trap was complete, undoubtedly drinking himself into a stupor once more. But Aramis was patient and he knew that Athos was the only one who knew how to clean his eyes up and apply the salve so he was preparing himself for full frontal attack once his moment came and he had Athos where he couldn't escape.

Number three, Porthos, bless his heart, was rather emotional back in his room but once he saw Aramis on his feet, he morphed back into his exuberant self and cracked jokes left and right. He kept their spirits up and Aramis loved him for that because he himself sure could use some excuse to relax and let the feel of home penetrate the pain. Porthos being his usual boastful self was familiar and Aramis latched onto the normalcy as much as he could.

Number four, D'Artagnan was oddly enough the most helpful out of them all. As much as he had the unruly energy of youth on his side that usually meant he couldn't sit still for more than half an hour, he had infinite patience with Aramis and for most of the day, it had been him that led Aramis around. While Porthos didn't mind taking Aramis from room to room, he would jokingly take him into his arms and carry him bridal style all the while laughing about it. Once Aramis overcame the mortification of such a comparison, he himself found it rather funny; until he realized that not walking the distance himself, he was absolutely lost as to his actual location when Porthos put him down. But D'Artagnan was always there to help him sit down or to take his hand and resting it on his own shoulder, he led Aramis wherever he wanted to go.

Number five, there were certain things he definitely took for granted while he could still see but that he didn't have the heart to ask any of his friends to do for him. There was being hurt and needing help and a bit of pampering and then there was blatant abuse of his friends' helpfulness. He missed reading his bible more than he would care to admit. Even though he knew it by heart, reading it always calmed him down and right now he could have used that. However, he knew how little regard the others held for his believes and wouldn't subject them to the torture of having to read it out for him. At least he could feel the leather cover with his fingers as he ran them over the binding, smell the pages and feel the rough texture of the paper.

And last but certainly not least, he found out that having to concentrate all the time while recovering from injuries was more exhausting than he would have imagined. It was barely time when they would usually go to a tavern to unwind when he felt himself dozing off in the chair. By the third time his head lolled down, D'Artagnan offered to guide him upstairs so he could rest. Knowing when to leave his ego behind, Aramis thanked the boy and followed him with heavy steps. He knew the tiredness would wear off eventually but right now he felt like he could sleep for a day.

Plus, retreating to rest meant Athos would have to come redress his bandages and that meant he could finally talk with his friend. Athos wouldn't know what hit him.

* * *

><p>Resting in bed and half asleep, Aramis was woken from his dozing by 2 sets of footsteps going up the stairs. One was lighter, almost a bit timid which he knew belonged to Planchet. He was undoubtedly carrying a towel and a basin filled with clear water, careful not to spill anything to avoid getting yelled at. The other was a combination of aggressive and reluctant which could only mean Athos. Still angry at himself for supposedly causing Aramis harm, he was the resident mother hen who needed to care for him but was reluctant to admit it. Usually it was Aramis who played doctor when one of the others was hurt while Athos just hovered in the background looking very much a like a bear with a thorn in its paw, unless he was the patient of course. But whenever Aramis got injured, it was Athos who took it upon himself to provide the care. And this time was no different though it was clear that the only reason he hadn't asked any of the others to do it instead was his inner sense of duty.<p>

Telling them to enter once he heard the knocking on his door, Aramis sat up in his bed, resting against the headboard and smiled encouragingly.

"Good evening Athos, Planchet."

"How'd you-"

"I'm blind Athos, but I'm most certainly not deaf. I'd recognize your steps anywhere. Plus, you promised to take care of me before I went to sleep."

"Indeed."

Aramis decided not to comment on the fact that Athos sounded like he'd rather have all of his teeth pulled out than take care of him right now. Knowing he would have to strike soon to prevent his dear friend from falling deeper into his melancholy, he waited for the sound of Planchet putting the basin on his bedside table. Hearing it, he thanked the servant and bid him a goodnight. Usually, Athos preferred to care for him in privacy but he knew that there was a high possibility he might use poor Planchet as a shield tonight. However, now he couldn't ask him to stay without raising suspicion.

Silently, Athos began unbandaging Aramis' eyes but once he had a clear view of the damage the explosion had caused, he stopped moving. The sight was horrible and he knew that the only way he would sleep tonight would be passed out cold from alcohol, otherwise his dreams would be plagued by visions of the burned skin. Aramis could feel the direction Athos' thoughts were going and cleared his throat before speaking.

"I, thank you Athos, for saving me. If it wasn't for you, I would have been shot or worse yet, dead. I'm honoured to have such a great friend guarding my back."

"Save you? If it weren't for me then-"

"Stop, stop right there Athos. If it weren't for you I really would have been shot. I didn't see him, didn't even notice. At that distance, it would have been damaging no matter his aim."

Not wanting to acknowledge the truth, Athos didn't answer but instead wet the towel with clean water and began washing the old salve away. For a few moments Aramis was unable to continue his attack as he fought not to yell out. Athos had been gentle but it still felt as if his skin was being peeled off his face. Athos noticed of course how much discomfort his friend was in, he was getting paler by the minute as beads of sweat covered his body. He worried Aramis would bite on his lower lip so hard it would bleed if it took much longer. Seeing the damage and the pain, Athos felt an incredible rage building inside him. Rage at himself for not being good enough, fast enough. He had failed his friend.

Once his eyes were clean, Aramis took a few deep breaths to will the pain away. The fresh salve that Athos applied helped as it spread a wonderful cooling feeling over his face. By the time Athos was ready to bandage him back up, he was prepared to talk again.

"Athos, your thoughts are as loud as if you were shouting them. This is not in any shape or form your fault. If anything, it is mine. Or better yet, let's blame the real person at fault, the one that wanted to shoot me. You didn't hold the musket, you didn't put the barrel in there, you didn't pull the trigger. You aren't responsible for what happened my friend."

"I'm not responsible? I was the one who threw the dagger and made him shoot the barrel! I'm the reason you're in this bed right now, in agony!"

"No! You are NOT! Athos are you even listening to me? There was nothing more you could have done! "

"Yes there was! There always is. I should have killed him with that dagger, he should never have even shot!"

"Athos, not even you can prevent what the Lord set into motion."

"Don't you patronize me with your beloved Saviour Aramis! I'm the leader of this little band damnit and if I can't protect you all than what's the point?"

"Athos see reason, I beg you. We are all grown up men responsible for ourselves. It is not a burden resting on your shoulders alone!"

"Oh really? Well, D'Artagnan is just a boy, Porthos is a man child at best and you seem to have no regard for your safety whatsoever the way you usually charge into battle! All 3 of you are reckless and rash and I can't be everywhere all at once to keep you in line! One of these days you will get killed and I won't be there and then what?"

Not wanting to hear a response, Athos practically ran out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

"That didn't go too well."

Aramis sighed and slumped into the wall tiredly, finishing up the bandaging as best he could. He knew that Athos wasn't really angry at him, though he did get a rather interesting insight on how he felt about the three of them getting injured. Then again, it wasn't as if Athos himself never got hurt, he was just as often bedridden as them. Of all the intelligent men Aramis had ever known, Athos usually saw the least reason when it came to people he cared about. Even if he had a terrible way of showing said care.

Too tired to fight sleep any longer, Aramis decided that he would keep the next confrontation until later. And as for paying Athos back for yelling at him while he was hurt, he would just have to wait until the next time Athos himself was confined to bed and then he would give him a piece of his own mind about a few things. After all, an Athos confined to bed couldn't run away right?

* * *

><p>The next couple of days were rather uneventful. Aramis was slowly getting settled to his new routine and life picked up for all of them. During the day the musketeers had duties that needed attending so Aramis was left home with only Planchet by his side. However that wasn't so bad as Planchet seemed to have been worried about him himself if the cooking he swore was from his mother's secret recipes was any indication. Oddly enough he was actually a good talking partner once Aramis listened to him and he learned to enjoy the days spent in kitchen, listening to Planchet cook or clean while he talked.<p>

D'Artagnan was still his sweet boyish self and if asked, led Aramis through the house or more often, outside. It was relaxing to visit the stables and take care of his darling steed with a bit of help from the youth. If nothing, leaning into his horse gave Aramis the strength he lacked lately, something D'Artagnan had much understanding for. It was also quite amusing making D'Artagnan talk about Constance, the boy was so in love with her; it was easy to hear it in his voice. And it was generally nice to spend more time with their youngest; hearing about his dreams and plans filled even Aramis with new enthusiasm.

True to form, Porthos supplied a rather interesting disturbance to their new life in the second week. Deciding that the best cure for any pain would be a nice long evening spent in the lovely company of some ladies, he took Aramis to one of his favourite brothels while Athos and D'Artagnan had night watch. Apparently, Porthos had told the ladies all about poor Aramis being injured and out of some inborn instinct to pamper the hurt, all of them flocked his way and took him to places he only ever considered reachable through God. He was sure that nothing could wipe off the smirk he would undoubtedly be sporting for at least a day once the women were done with him. If he could even walk back home that is, he wasn't so sure.

Hearing Porthos retelling how he had been left alone while all the women spoiled their former priest, D'Artagnan laughed so hard he couldn't breathe and even Athos had to snort. How typical for the giant to lift Aramis' spirits with sex. Speaking of Athos, he had left early in the morning after his big explosion but by the time Aramis was ready to go to bed, he was back and offered to tend to his eyes. While he was working he apologized for being so harsh earlier. Aramis forgave him of course but it was clear that the older man still felt remorseful for doing it and felt the need to make it up to his friend.

It caught Aramis by surprise when Athos knocked on his door and entered his room just minutes after he had left with the dirtied up water. Asking him what he needed, Athos explained with great difficulty that he thought Aramis might be bored a that while he wouldn't touch his bible with a foot long stick, he offered to read him a different book, if he so wished. For a second, Aramis couldn't believe his ears; Athos had never offered anything similar to him in the past. But before the older man lost what little resolve he had for doing it, he answered that yes, he would like that very much indeed.

It became a bit of a ritual with Athos always returning to him after he carried the supplies downstairs and reading. Aramis had to say that Athos had an incredible voice that was very soothing to listen to and he found himself imagining all of the pictures his friend was painting with words. Many a night, that deep voice lulled him to sleep and although he had been sitting before he dozed off, he always woke up lying and covered with his sheet. One of these days, Athos would make a great father, if a bit stern.

And so, things settled down again in the household with the quartet and their faithful servant with each new day getting them closer to the doctor's visit and hopefully some good news. However, on the other side of the channel, an enraged duke was cursing at his servants for bringing him news of his spies having fallen by the musketeers' hands. His mad tirade was interrupted by one of the unfortunate servants and cringing under Buckingham's wrath, the poor boy stuttered about having heard that one of the musketeers got hurt in the debacle. Losing himself in thoughts, the Duke saw a perfect opportunity to repay his enemies and began planning his revenge. Yes, he would have to find out who was hurt and how first but it could definitely be used to his advantage. At once he gave out new orders.


	3. Aramis, Eyesight Part 3 Rated M

_A/N Much much thanks to all the readers and a special thank you to everybody who's been reviewing! You sure make me happy with all your lovely comments and make me feel welcome in here! :D_

_Now for the worse part... **since this chapter includes fairly graphic descriptions of torture (dun dun dun) I warn you ahead that it_'_s rated M**. I realize I'm probably gonna get stoned for what happens in here *hides*_

_Oh, one last thing. As there is only 1 more part left to this and considering what happens in this one, I think it best that the next story be more light-hearted and fun. Since I have several ideas, it's you people who get to vote for what shall be next! The choices:_

_- D'Artagnan losing his virginity_

_- Athos losing weight after realizing he's been gaining it for a while now_

_- Aramis losing his brain-to-mouth filter_

_- Porthos losing hair (pre movie so no D'Artagnan here)_

_Let me know which you would prefer!_

* * *

><p>Click click click, the heels of a rather fashionable pair of boots hit the ground with each step, filling the room with the regular sound. There and back again, the owner of the boots covered the distance from wall to wall with a few long strides. He ignored the lavish decorations surrounding him even though they took most people's breath away when seen. His patience was growing thin as he had been expecting news on the latest mission for a while now; nobody dared to disturb him for anything else but the message he wanted. Buckingham definitely planned to use the injury of one of the musketeers to his advantage and while he didn't want to lose much time, he told his men to be cautious. He ordered them to at first observe and find out about the injury and that if it was debilitating enough, to wait for the right moment to strike. Should the mission be successful, his lovely prison would get a new inhabitant soon. Should it not, he would have even more reason to loath the musketeers. But first things first, he awaited the news on how the operation went.<p>

* * *

><p>Athos had an uneasy feeling about it all. It wasn't actually all that surprising that the king had another mission for them but he didn't like the prospect of leaving Aramis unattended for more than a day. Sadly, the order was that all 3 remaining musketeers must go deal with the problem and that it would not wait for their convenience. No amount of reasoning would get them out of it and none of them wanted to disobey an order, least of all Aramis who felt that it would be his fault if they did. Porthos joked that it was only Athos being his usual protective self, unwilling to miss the doctor's visit that could change Aramis' life forever. Truth be told, it didn't sit well with any of them that they couldn't be there for Aramis when the bandages might be taken off for good. They should be there as moral support. Even so, Athos couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that, as much as he hated not being there during the procedure.<p>

But Aramis reassured them that he would be there once they returned and that even if the doctor said he was healing and would recovered his sight, he wouldn't be much use the first few days anyway. All the more reason not to leave him unprotected in Athos' book but France came first as he had been reminded and looking his usual sullen self, he rode out with Porthos and D'Artagnan. Planchet had been schooled on how to care for the injured priest and separately from each other, every musketeer told him in no unclear terms that his life would be hell should they find Aramis in a worse condition upon their return. Having heard threats on a daily basis, Planchet knew which ones were spoken out of habit and which ones were honest and every one of the trio had spoken with such seriousness and passion, he had no doubt they would follow through on them. Not that he would knowingly cause his master harm anyway. Closing the door behind the mission bound musketeers, he set about making Aramis a light snack, chatting with the former priest amiably.

Despite their caution and experience, none of them noticed the pair of eyes that had been observing their home for 2 days now. Checking one last time that the three left to follow their orders, the observer went on his way back to his comrades. Things were shaping out better than any of them might have hoped for and they were certain they would succeed. Buckingham was sure to fill their pockets with plenty of gold for this special delivery. As planned, they would strike at night, incapacitating the servant and grabbing the package before anyone knew any better. By the time the musketeers realize what happened and act up on it, they would be safely back in England and out of the equation. Let the Duke deal with the fallout of his "master" plan. Yes, nightfall couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

><p>It had all happened far too quickly. One moment ago, he had bid Planchet good night after the servant tended to him and the next, he heard him shouting out a warning before suddenly going far too quiet. After 2 weeks of blindness, Aramis had sharpened his other senses and could clearly hear several pairs of feet running up the stairs, undoubtedly going for him. Getting out of bed he grabbed for his sword and dagger, he had made sure earlier he knew exactly where they rested just in case, although it would be an uneven match; his best bet was to stay by the wall so he couldn't get surrounded. He only had a second to prepare himself before his door was kicked open and footsteps he didn't recognize as Planchet's entered the room. Hoping the intruders didn't use the poor soul as a human shield when entering presuming he would be defenceless, he took a calculated guess and threw his dagger. The pain filled scream let him know that he did in fact hit home, and the cursing of the others after the body crumpled to the floor with a thud indicated the location of the rest. By the sounds of it, he was facing at least 4 men and while normally that wouldn't be a problem, right now it meant he was in deep trouble. He could only hope that they wanted him alive.<p>

Seeing their fallen comrade hitting the floor dead from a precisely thrown dagger, the others regarded the blinded musketeer with much more hesitation. Clearly he wasn't as defenceless as they had thought though the advantage was still on their side. Quickly forming a new plan and signalling to one another what to do, they realized they would have to lead him away from the wall to improve their chances. Unfortunately for them, the Duke wanted him relatively unharmed which didn't leave them much room for vicious attacking. Charging him at random from 4 different sides, Aramis was having problems keeping the intruders at bay. He had managed to cut all of them at some point though not as precisely as he would have liked. He was sure he stabbed one of them in his shoulder but unfortunately, his sword got stuck for a second, giving them a window of opportunity to strike the winning blow. He felt something hitting his shoulder hard and before he knew what happened, he lost his grip on the sword and was thrown to the ground. Hurrying back to his feet, something hit him on the right side of his head and he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap. Catching their breath, the quartet was angered at the musketeer for making it so difficult for them; the one with the pierced shoulder kicked the lifeless body a few times before the others stopped him. They had what they came in for, even if it wasn't without complications and it was time to run.

* * *

><p>Buckingham could hardly suppress his childish glee at receiving the good news. He had little regard for the fallen soldier, there were plenty more where he came from, all he cared about was the fact that the musketeer had been captured and would soon be escorted to him. He was glad that his improved war machine helped hasten the transport and ordered that the soldiers be given a fat reward for their trouble. The only mystery that remained was which musketeer he would get. He hoped for Athos though any of them would do. His question was answered an hour later when the door opened to reveal 2 gruff looking soldiers dragging a struggling body between them. They stopped a few feet before the Duke and forced the man to his knees. Buckingham got his first good look at his new prisoner.<p>

It was clear that he got captured at night for he was only wearing a pair of breeches and a loose shirt, he didn't even have boots. The upper half of his face was covered in a bandage that was red with blood on one side, apparently from where he had been hit over the head. Dangling from his neck was a cross pronouncing loud and clear that the captured musketeer was Aramis. Grinning victoriously, Buckingham covered the distance between them and forced Aramis' chin up to get an even better look.

"Tsk tsk tsk, you've let yourself go dear Aramis. Last time we saw each other, you looked all majestic firing that cannon and just look at you now. Weak and defenceless at my mercy without your entourage nearby to come save you."

Buckingham had made one vital mistake. Aramis had known his face perfectly and getting so close to him to speak, the musketeer decided to show him just how defenceless he was. Surprising even the soldiers, he sprung up and to the front, hitting his target. The satisfying crunch of a broken nose was heard as Aramis' head connected with Buckingham's face. He only hoped the bastard bled all over his precious clothes and would have a crooked nose for the rest of his life. Even knowing he would pay for this dearly, Aramis considered it worth it to hear the pain in Buckingham's newly improved nasal voice.

"You insolent French bastard, you will pay for this!"

Aramis felt the soldiers grabbing him and throwing him onto the ground before he received several hard kicks to his chest and abdomen. He could feel his ribs bruising under the assault but he smiled all the way through it, enraging the Duke even more.

"Take him to the dungeon and leave him hanging until I decide his punishment. Perhaps that will teach him some manners!"

He didn't struggle any more as he was once again grabbed and carried away, there was no point. Even if he managed to escape them, he had no way of leaving wherever they had taken him to. His only hope was that the doctor who was supposed to come later that day to check up on his eyes would undoubtedly realize what happened once he found Planchet. Hopefully, he would notify his friends immediately and they could start planning his rescue. Until then, he had to endure whatever was in store for him.

* * *

><p>Aramis didn't know how long he had been left hanging from his wrists all alone in his cell. They had lifted him high enough so that his feet didn't touch the ground, putting great strain on his shoulders and his battered ribs. His shirt had been torn off and he felt the moist coldness of the dungeon seeping into his body. His whole body ached but he knew that things were about to get much worse before the others could arrive. Forcing his mind off of what might be in store for him, he imagined what the Duke looked like with his precious little nose broken instead.<p>

He knew he was screwed the moment he heard the clicking of expensive boots on the dungeon floor followed by more footsteps and did his best to brace himself for whatever was going to happen. The heavy metallic squeak let him know that his cell had been opened and he could practically feel the burning stare Buckingham was giving him as he ordered in a cold, albeit still nasal, voice.

"Put him down and take him to the interrogation room."

The pulley securing the rope which held him up must have been loosened for Aramis felt himself falling suddenly. His muscles weren't reacting after the prolonged position they had been kept in before and he landed on his shoulder unceremoniously. Grunting in pain, he was heaved up and pulled to his new location.

Once there, he was bent over and secured into what felt like stocks, at least he assumed so because both his hands and his head were trapped. He felt really apprehensible about this position because it gave his tortures easy access to far too many parts of his body.

"You're as insufferable as Athos himself and you shall pay for that. First you steal my war machine, then you destroy half of my tower ruining my reputation in the process, then you destroy the stolen war machine and now you break my nose. For everything you took from me something will be taken from you, for everything you broke, you'll have something broken. Sounds fair to me."

Buckingham sounded far too happy about the prospect, making sure his voice sounded extra smug as he explained. Aramis was liking this less and less by the minute. He especially didn't like the fact that he couldn't see what was going to happen, it made it all the worse by keeping him on edge until the last moment. Being able to hear people walking around and picking up the instruments they'd use made his gut clench.

"So, let's start shall we? As I said, you dared take my airship from me."

Aramis felt somebody grabbing his left hand and before he could even start struggling, they tore the nail from his thumb off in one quick pull. Screaming half in pain and half in surprise, he struggled to get his hand away before it was mutilated any more. Unfortunately, the stocks held him firmly in place. Buckingham waited for the sharp pain to pass so that nothing would be missed from the next assault.

"You stripped me of my reputation."

Knowing what was about to happen didn't make it any easier. Forcing his struggling to stop by grabbing onto the bleeding thumb, his attacker gave the same treatment to his index finger. Once again, Buckingham waited until Aramis' body unclenched.

"You destroyed my airship."

More clanking could be heard as the torturer put away the tongs he was using and got something different instead to continue with. Aramis yelled out in agony as something akin to a hammer collided with his bleeding hand, the heavy blow breaking most of his fingers. He was given only enough time for his screams to die down before another of his crimes was mentioned.

"You destroyed my office."

He felt someone walk to his side and a pair of strong glowed hands holding his back down as he was kneeled into his ribs repeatedly until the sound of breaking bones filled the room. Gasping for air, his knees were buckling, barely holding his body up. Willing his legs into obedience, he coughed up some blood, making his chest burn with the movement. He felt someone wiping the blood off of his chin and from the strong perfume deduced it was Buckingham himself. He was undoubtedly enjoying the show, Aramis could practically feel the smile on the bastard's face as he added nonchalantly.

"And lastly, you broke my nose."

Aramis expected the blow, he was ready for it and truth be told, after everything else it would be the least of his suffering but for some reason, it never came. Instead, Buckingham practically caressed his cheek and then just moved away.

"It was the last thing you did to me and I think it only fitting that it will be the very last thing I'll do to you. However, as much as the punishments had been satisfying so far, I do believe I deserve an apology for everything you had done to me. But we both know that you're going to be stubborn about this so I will be generous and give you time to think about your crimes. Yes, I believe the racks will give you a good environment to think about it."

The stocks were unlocked but he had no power left to fight his tormentors as they carried him over to the rack. They threw him down on it, aggravating his injuries further and before he could pull himself back together, they had tied him down.

"When you are ready to apologize to me and beg for forgiveness, let the guards know. They may be merciful and come get me to give you your chance. I shall see you later Aramis."

He hated the mirth in Buckingham's tone as he taunted him and hoped he would one day get to pull out all of his pearly white teeth one by one before feeding them back to the bastard. However, his plans for revenge were cut short when Aramis felt the ropes getting tighter as they started pulling on his arms and legs. It was pure agony on his limbs and broken ribs and somewhere in the haze of burning pain that filled his brain, he could hear himself yelling. He prayed for a speedy rescue as he knew he wouldn't be able to take much more of this.

Smiling as if his ears were filled with the sweetest melody, Buckingham turned to the torturers.

"Keep him stretched to the limit but don't tear anything off. I want him to be in one piece when he begs for forgiveness so we can play with him some more."

With that, the Duke left to attend to some other business.

* * *

><p>Aramis' screams had long died down and slowly his mantra of <em>they will come<em>, _don't lose faith_, _just a little longer_ was losing its power when he faintly heard some commotion in the dungeon. He didn't dare hope but the running and fighting was getting closer and closer. Before he could finish his prayer, God had sent him rescuing angels in the form of his friends who made quick work of the guards. He heard their gasps as they saw him and could feel the rage emitting from them but he had no more comforting words left in his beaten body. Sending a quick thank you to the heavens, he passed out shortly after they untied him.


	4. Aramis, Eyesight Part 4

_A/N And it's time to finish up this particular story. I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers, you kept pushing me forward! Hopefully you'll enjoy all the other stories that I'll cook up after this one as well. Speaking of which, looking at the votes and adding my sister's vote, it's a tie between Athos and Aramis. Think I will write both of them before going for something else and that Athos will be first but we shall see. Both should be considerably shorter than this story though :P_

* * *

><p>Athos wanted to erase the last few hours out of his memory for good. What happened was like something from his deepest darkest nightmares and he knew that none of them would leave unscarred. Sitting on the floor with his back resting against the wall, his head was hung between his knees in worry, exhaustion and a seething anger that threatened to take over any minute. The only thing keeping him from yelling out in utter frustration like a wounded animal was the fact that Porthos and D'Artagnan relied on him and seeing him fall apart would do nobody any good right now. His two friends went to catch some fresh air, finding it difficult to even breathe when they looked at Aramis. Currently, the former priest was still out of it and truth be told, Athos hoped it would remain that way until they arrived back to Paris. Having reviewed his injuries, Athos knew that riding a horse for the last part of their journey would be utter agony. For now they sailed smoothly as they had once again nicked Buckingham's airship to be able to move Aramis back home as quickly as possible. Good thing too since it was probably the least aggravating transport for his injuries. Checking up on the priest once more, Athos remembered how it all went down...<p>

The mission had been a stupid farce far as the musketeers were concerned. There was barely any problem there that they had to solve, it looked like the king had received false information. Supposedly, another group of spies had been terrorizing a few villages in the north but it became clear quickly that they were just local bandits and nothing more. Normally they wouldn't have minded but right now, they had more important places to be than to take care of a local problem. And even if they were the people meant to deal with this thing, one of them would have been enough, two at most. There was nothing to justify sending all three of them out.

Just as they were preparing to go back home, something unexpected happened. Planchet arrived on Aramis' horse, looking desperate, frightened and worse for the wear what with his bandaged up head. All of their hearts stopped for a second fearing the worst. Getting Planchet to calm down enough so they could understand what he was saying had been difficult. Porthos had to force him to drink a few gulps of a rather strong local eau de vie before the poor man stopped shaking. However, he had confirmed their worst worries once coherent words left his lips.

Hastily he told them about the night attack on him and Aramis, about being overpowered by the assailants and how when he woke up, Aramis was nowhere to be found and that there was blood on his bedroom floor. Before he had been struck unconscious, he had heard the men speaking English which led all of them to believe that this was Buckingham's doing. Thankfully, the doctor had arrived early in the morning and found Planchet. He had tended to him and once he considered him able to, he let him ride out in search of his masters. Immediately, the trio prepared to ride to Calais, telling Planchet to rest in the village and to go back home the next day. The poor servant would be of no use right now and it was clear that the only reason keeping him from passing out was his fear of what was happening to Aramis. Within minutes they rode out, knowing they would have plenty of opportunities to make a plan on the ship. At least their mission was on the way to the port sparing them some time.

It was only by sheer luck that they had captured one of Aramis' kidnappers right in the English port. The idiot was drunk off his ass and boasting about doing a great service for Buckingham. By the time they were done with him, he was barely alive and they knew exactly what happened, where to find the new airship and where to go looking for their friend. The fact that he was so shocked by their presence meant that they didn't expect them to find out about it so soon which gave them an edge. They didn't have too much of a plan besides barging in there, getting Aramis and leaving on the airship but it seemed that lady luck had finally graced them with a smile. As they were nearing Aramis' supposed prison, they had heard that something or other happened with one of the Lords that required Buckingham's immediate attention and so the Duke had left less than an hour ago. Perfect.

Abandoning finesse for speed, they caused as much mayhem on their way to the prison as they could, making sure the bastard knew exactly what happened and would need weeks if not months to repair the damage and hire some new personnel as they slashed their way to Aramis' cell. However, once there, their hearts stopped beating and none of them could quite stop themselves from gasping loudly. Aramis was in a pitiful state. Stretched out on the rack, they could clearly see the broken ribs, bruises marring most of his skin and the complete mess that was his left hand. Suddenly, all the damage they had caused didn't seem nowhere near enough and what was once good news of Buckingham being absent was now a lost opportunity of killing the bastard once and for all. Shaking themselves out of the shock, they quickly ran to Aramis and untied him. He was barely coherent and passed out before Porthos took him into his arms.

He was the biggest and strongest and so would have the least trouble to both carry Aramis and shield him with his own body if necessary. As gently as their haste allowed, he carried his beaten friend to the airship that they had taken by force. Athos and D'Artagnan had gone ballistics on anybody who had dared crossed their way, killing viciously and efficiently whoever stood between them and safety. Perhaps later they would feel some remorse for their actions but right now all they could see was Aramis' painfully spread body that filled them with untamed rage. Leaving a trail of enemies behind them, Porthos took Aramis inside once they were on board, resting the unconscious musketeer on a cot as they flew off. Once on course, Athos did his best to patch up the blunt of the damage but it was clear that they would need a doctor as soon as they got back home. Covering his friend with a blanket, he caressed his cheek gently and wondered why Aramis deserved such trials...

Back in the present, Athos was sitting on a horse, waiting for Porthos to hand him the still unconscious Aramis. Had it really been only 2 weeks when they were in a similar position? Athos wished they could have flown with the airship right to their home to spare his friend the jarring journey but it wasn't possible. Instead they landed near Paris and paid for 3 horses to cover the rest of the way. Just before they left, they made sure to set Buckingham's toy on fire.

Splitting up the same way as they had done days ago, D'Artagnan rode to the doctor while Athos and Porthos carried their friend back to his room. Planchet went several shades paler when he saw Porthos carrying him inside; he turned green when he saw some of the injuries. Prepared for the need of his services, the doctor wasn't surprised when he saw the young musketeer approaching his home.

However, he had hoped his patient would be in a much better shape than he was as he arrived. Checking him up, he had to shake his head repeatedly at the obvious signs of torture the man had suffered. With the assistance of Athos, they had managed to bandage up his chest, the only good thing about it all was that it didn't appear like the broken ribs punctured anything. Taking a closer look at Aramis' left hand, the doctor set about righting the bones as best he could before fixating them. Cleaning out the dried blood from the pulled nails, he made sure to bandage the 2 fingers up as well. Once he was done, Aramis' hand was one big bandage, rendering it absolutely useless for even the smallest of tasks. He put some cream on the rope burns on Aramis' wrists and ankles and finally checked up on his eyes. At least, those seemed to have healed quite nicely and after he cleaned them, he only put a little of the salve they had left on them and bandaged them up. Should Aramis regain consciousness the next day, they would hopefully take them off for good.

Since there was nothing more he could do for his patient at the moment, once they raised him up to more of a sitting position with a few pillows, he inconspicuously checked out if Athos was ok. The man was exhibiting signs of shock, understandable considering the situation. The doctor wasn't completely sure he wouldn't pass out on him, he was incredibly pale and there was a slight tremor running through him. Squeezing his shoulder in compassion, the doctor spoke in his most soothing voice.

"Get some rest. There isn't anything else we can do for him right now."

"But I should stay with him-"

"No. You should go lie down and rest so that you don't pass out on him when he'll actually need your assistance later."

Athos wanted to fight but the doctor was right. The last thing he wanted to happen was to fail his dear friend once more by being too stubborn and weak once he was needed.

"Very well. I... thank you doctor. For everything."

"Do not mention it. And do not worry about your friend. He is young and strong and I'm sure that soon enough he will drive us all crazy with his boredom before I allow him to leave the bed."

He hoped for at least a little smile but wasn't surprised when he didn't get one. Watching Athos leave, the doctor sighed. One down, two more to go. It was time to go speak with Porthos and D'Artagnan before he returned to his silent vigil over the injured musketeer.

* * *

><p>Aramis woke up with a feeling of déjà vu, a dull pain floating in the back of his mind. He knew that the moment he moved, the pain would spike up again to the burning agony he had felt before he passed out. Speaking of which, his mind was slowly remembering what happened right before he did. His friends, they had come to his rescue. Apparently a successful one as he felt the softness of a bed and several pillows below him and the warmth of a blanket over him. While Buckingham might have let him get medical attention to play with him some more, he certainly wouldn't have allowed such comforts. Which could only mean he was safely back home.<p>

"Aramis, can you hear me?"

He cognized the voice as the doctor's, they usually went to the same one after a mission gone wrong.

"Mmmm."

"You gave us a good scare boy! Now now, do not move just yet."

Listening to the order, Aramis felt a glass being put to his parched lips and gratefully accepted the offered water. It felt blissful running down his throat. Thanking the good doctor, Aramis answered a few of his medical questions before asking about his friends. He was concerned that they themselves might have suffered an injury or two during the rescue.

"No reason to worry about them Aramis, physically they are all just fine. You're the one we need to care for. However, I am sure they are antsy and would like to be notified of your wakefulness right away."

Smiling tiredly, Aramis nodded knowing that had the roles been reversed, he would have been hovering by the door right now. Within moments of the doctor leaving, he heard them practically bursting into his room and hadn't his ribs been broken, he would have laughed.

He really must have given them quite a scare with his state as D'Artagnan and Porthos couldn't seem to stop touching him gently, as if they were afraid he would fade before their very eyes. Athos too was restless but rather than touching him, he kept reminding the two to be mindful of his injuries. It felt good to be with them again and exchange stories of what happened. Telling them about how he broke the Duke's nose was gratifying even if he felt the tension as he mentioned his name. He wouldn't want to be in Buckingham's shoes should he ever cross paths with the musketeers again. The others would probably tear him apart with more gusto than even himself. However, there was some other tension and excitement floating around that Aramis couldn't quite place. Feeling it weighting them all down, he asked what was the matter. It was Athos who explained that if he felt up to it, it was time to check up on the progress with his eyes. With all that had happened in the last few days, Aramis had completely forgotten that his check up had already passed. Suddenly breathing a little harder for reasons other than his ribs, he felt fear. What if his eyes hadn't healed and would prove damaged beyond repair?

Before he could lose himself in the dark thoughts though, he felt Porthos squeezing his right hand in support.

"We can wait until you feel a little better you know."

Making up his mind knowing they would stand by him no matter the result, Aramis' face turned into one of determination.

"No. I need to know."

After that, the doctor joined them once more and ordered the trio to prepare everything as needed. He sent D'Artagnan for a few candles while he ordered Porthos and Athos to get heavy blankets to cover the window with. While waiting for his orders to be filled, he spoke Aramis through what they would do and took off the bandages telling him to keep his eyes closed a little longer. He washed off the residue salve and checked up on the healing burns while they still had enough light in the room. While the skin would need a little longer to heal, it looked like there wouldn't be permanent marks on Aramis' face.

"After 2 weeks of being closed, your eyes will be very sensitive even to the smallest amount of light, hence the need to cover up the window. I have great fate in you Aramis but do not to get your hopes too far up just yet, even if you are healing, your sight will still be nowhere near its usual sharpness."

Nodding in understanding, Aramis sent a quick prayer to his God and braced himself for whatever happened.

Telling D'Artagnan to light up 2 candles, the doctor signalled for Porthos to close the door, putting the room into darkness. Once their eyes adjusted, he had D'Artagnan put the candles behind them on the floor so that they provided minimum light without shining directly into Aramis' eyes. Then the moment of truth came as he told the former priest to open his eyes.

Grateful for their support, Aramis clutched Porthos' offered hand tightly, feeling Athos squeezing his left shoulder and D'Artagnan touching one of his knees. Drawing power from his friends, he slowly blinked his eyes open. At first he only saw darkness but slowly, very slowly, he began recognizing shapes. His eyes had problems focusing on the details but he could finally see his friends again. It felt similar to looking under water but either way, it was a great progress. He answered all of the questions the doctor gave him, being absolutely honest about the limits of his current vision. And while he could feel a little disappointment in the air, they had all felt like they could breathe again now that it seemed he would recover his sight with time.

* * *

><p>Just as before, the musketeer household fell into a new routine, accommodating the patient. The doctor had given Aramis some drops for his eyes, reminding the quartet to come get him should there be a drastic change in Aramis' state, sight or otherwise. He also recommended that Aramis not expose his eyes to daylight just yet but to start using them in candle light or by the fireplaces, so long as he didn't look directly into the flames. He reminded them all to keep him in a seated position even during the night because of his ribs and generally, to keep him relaxed and mostly non active for at least 5 or 6 weeks.<p>

The first few days, Aramis kept his eyes shut obediently during the day but there was nothing that could stop him from opening them up in the evening. His friends were still mostly out of focus but it was soothing to see them at least somewhat. Athos had picked up their little routine right from the second evening, patiently reading to Aramis anything he could find. He would never admit it, but it felt nice spending the evening with his friend for other reasons than to just redress his injuries. Aramis felt even more self blame from Athos for supposedly abandoning him when he clearly needed them but he decided that persuading Athos that he did nothing wrong would have to wait a little. His mind wasn't always clear because of the pain he was in and he couldn't exactly track his stubborn friend down right now making it all too easy for Athos to escape. Plus, and Aramis hated to admit just how selfish it was, he didn't want to risk losing the reading sessions if he said something wrong which he undoubtedly would have.

Planchet had a self blaming problem himself although Aramis accused him none. Planchet was a servant, not a soldier and it would be foolish to expect him to defeat so many opponents at once. But he felt he had failed his master and to make up for it made sure to mostly cook foods that didn't need 2 hands to handle, alternatively cutting the meat up for Aramis before he carried the plate upstairs to him. He was also always at hand, never once attempting to dodge any request the priest might have.

D'Artagnan had been almost shy around him and seemed like there was nothing more he wanted to do than to crawl onto Aramis' lap and hold him for hours to make sure he was alright. It was times like these that Aramis was reminded just how young their friend was and that despite all his cockiness, he was just a boy far away from home who had to witness one of his few friends being tortured. He offered as much comfort as he could by making sure to always indicate that the little space on his bed right next to him was empty should D'Artagnan wish to keep him company. The young Gascon never sat in a chair when visiting. He also did something that made Aramis' heart swell a few days after he first woke up.

Smiling a bit sheepishly, the lad handed him a small box, claiming he had a surprise for him. The fact that he waited for evening when Aramis could see at least a little in the candlelight meant it had to be something important, even if D'Artagnan tried to downplay it. Opening the box carefully, Aramis revealed a small golden cross on a chain. He had realized that his old one must have been lost during his capture, probably at the time they rid him of his shirt but being bedridden, he had no chance of purchasing another one. Running his fingertips over the cross gently, he felt a small lump in his throat that he needed to clear up before speaking. He thanked D'Artagnan wholeheartedly, wondering just when did their youngest get so observant. D'Artagnan smiled at his friend, glad that the gift had the intended impact and explained.

"I know it's not as fancy as your old one but I hope it will do. I bought it from the money I was saving up to buy something nice for Constance but I think she'll understand. You need it more than her right now."

"It's perfect. I... thank you D'Artagnan. This means more to me than I can explain."

"Do not worry about it Aramis. You just get better, you hear?"

Asking his friend for assistance, Aramis wore his new cross proudly and never missed an evening to hold it while praying, thanking the Lord for the amazing friends he had been graced with.

Then, there was Porthos. At first he had been the most gentle with him out of them all, constantly making sure that Aramis was as comfortable as possible, fluffing his pillows and helping him around the house. However, what started out as great help slowly turned into behaviour that was driving Aramis insane. If Porthos fluffed his pillow one more time, he would be forced to throttle him singlehandedly. It didn't help much that his friend tried to keep him up to date with all the gossip of the town, Porthos was worse than an old hag. And to top it all off, he wouldn't stop telling him about what his newest mistress gave him as a token of her love. In short, Porthos was being Porthos and now that Aramis couldn't escape when he had had enough, he was ready to explode.

Secretly planning his revenge, he was surprised when Porthos knocked on his door one evening. Against his better judgement, Aramis told him to enter and wondered what his friend would do this time. Before he could ask though, Porthos yelled out "surprise!" and an unidentifiable mass ran into the room and to Aramis' bed. It took him a while to identify it, but once he did, Aramis wasn't quite sure how to react. It was obvious the dog expected to be petted and rested his head on the bed by Aramis' hand, the former priest could just imagine it looking at him expectantly. Petting the canine before he was jumped onto, he turned his confused stare to Porthos.

"Well you see, since we may have to go on a mission again soon, I didn't want to leave you unprotected. He's big, apparently really loyal and protective of his family and now he's kind of yours. Aramis meet Apollo(1), Apollo meet Aramis, your new charge."

Wondering if having such a large dog was really a good idea but understanding the sentiment behind Porthos' action, Aramis continued petting his new dog and thanked his friend.

"Plus, I hear that they can be trained as dogs for blind people so you know-"

Porthos ran away before Aramis launched a pillow at his head, his laughter could be heard through the whole house. Gasping in pain since throwing the pillow aggravated his ribs, Aramis cursed the buffoon to hell. Plus, now he was one pillow short, making his position considerably less comfortable.

"If only you could fetch the pillow for me Apollo."

To Aramis' great surprise, the dog did exactly that, happy to serve his new master as he felt the pain radiating off of the human.

"Apollo, this may be the start of a great friendship yet! After all, you seem much more intelligent than Porthos."

And undignified "hey!" could be heard from somewhere beyond the door as Aramis relaxed back into the pillows, scratching Apollo behind his ears occasionally while the dog guarded his new master.

* * *

><p>3 weeks had passed and Aramis was able to see almost as well as before, daylight was no longer a problem and he was starting to itch for some sort of activity. So far, the others had managed to keep him restrained, following the doctor's orders as closely as possible and even Apollo himself seemed to herd his charge right back to bed when he tried to sneak out. Aramis had found out that his new protector was of the Berger de Brie breed, originally a herding dog that was famous for his protectiveness. He was the colour of wheat and pretty much a fur ball and somehow had begun warming his way to Aramis' heart. He was uncovering new aspects of his usefulness each day, glad that the dog had been apparently trained before Porthos bought him.<p>

One day, Aramis had heard that D'Artagnan wanted to go to the city to buy some things and wanting to get something or other himself, he called for his friend hoping to catch him in time. However, D'Artagnan was already outside and didn't hear him. Sighing in disappointment, Aramis said aloud that he wished D'Artagnan could get there; he looked on in wonder as Apollo ran out of the room quickly and after some commotion and cursing, returned with the Gascon. It was quite a sight to see him nudging the boy forward, especially considering the dog was almost as big as D'Artagnan, bigger if he stood on his hind legs (2). The musketeer in question was attempting to escape but Apollo had none of it and made sure to bring him to his master. Aramis almost burst out laughing at the look of shock on his friend's face, the only thing keeping him from doing so were his ribs. But, he did get a chance to ask D'Artagnan to buy him the items and since the boy was far too willing to do a favour for his injured friend, he forgave the dog easily for the treatment.

Admittedly, Aramis began slightly abusing this new power and had Apollo fetch Porthos for every little thing he could think of. Porthos was beginning to give him murdering looks but Aramis gave him his best innocent eyes, fluttering his oh so long eyelashes and asking his friend for help with whatever came to his mind. In the end, Porthos just sighed and while he had a feeling he was being played, he didn't have the heart to say no to Aramis right now. However, he attempted to get Athos to order Aramis to stop using Apollo like that. Athos would have maybe agreed if it wasn't for the one time that Aramis sent Apollo to fetch Planchet when he was hiding from Athos. The dog had nudged him out of his hiding place and gained an ally in Athos. So, Porthos had to endure the treatment for the time being and usually went on his way to Aramis' room the moment Apollo looked at him a certain way to spare both of them the hassle.

Not that being a great herding dog at Aramis' command had been Apollo's only use. Using the opportunity when the others had to leave for a few days for a mission, Aramis had decided to catch some sunlight and fresh air. He would only sit down by their house, even he knew he wasn't ready to venture to the city just yet but the four walls of his room were driving him crazy. Apollo didn't seem to mind though he kept a watchful eye on his master, offering support with his mass whenever Aramis wavered. Planchet attempted to force the musketeer back to bed but Aramis wouldn't listen and simply ignored him. Admitting defeat, Planchet took the chair from Aramis' good hand and rested it outside the house where his master wanted. Smiling happily despite the discomfort of the small journey, Aramis sat down and closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight like a cat.

The idyllic moment didn't last too long though as three cardinal's guards walked by and noticed him. It wasn't a secret that he had been injured, though they didn't reveal by whom and the guards thought they could have some easy fun with him. After all the others were out of Paris and couldn't jump to his defence. But Aramis wasn't quite as alone as they thought and feeling his master's apprehension, Apollo waited for the intruders to make a single wrong step before going into protective mode. One of the guards was feeling particularly bold and with a mocking tone insulted Aramis, wondering if the great musketeer was any match for one of the cardinal's guards. He only took 2 steps before Apollo put himself between Aramis and the guards. What looked like a fluffy big dog with a heart of gold suddenly turned into a beast growling menacingly and showing off an impressive set of sharp teeth. Reconsidering, the guards just insulted Aramis again but left without starting a fight. Petting Apollo and telling him how much of a good boy he was, Aramis ordered Planchet to give Apollo a treat and a good combing later on in reward. Needless to say, hearing about the little incident, Apollo's likability rose in the eyes of all the musketeers.

* * *

><p>7 weeks later, Aramis was finally deemed healthy by the doctor as he had well working eyes once more, no more problems with his ribs, his nails were growing back nicely and his fingers healed quite well. His little and ring fingers would always be a little crooked now but it was barely noticeable and didn't hinder him none. He felt terribly out of shape though and began with a less strenuous exercise to get back into the swing of things. He sparred lightly every day with one of his friends, while they went easy on him it was a good feeling to have his sword back in his hand. He also took Apollo for a run each day, gradually adding distance for them under the ever watchful eye of his protector. As much as Apollo enjoyed the running, he never got far away from his master and always forced him to take a break when he got too out of breath. The only reason the others allowed it at all was because they knew Apollo would have the common sense Aramis might have lacked and prevent him from pushing himself too far.<p>

2 and half months after the rescue, the king called for Aramis' service at the palace, giving the others different orders, scattering them around the country. It turned out that Aramis was to attend a banquet because the king didn't want to feel lonely since the queen couldn't attend. Chance had it that it was a gathering that Buckingham had been invited to and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to jump the bastard the moment he arrived. It was a good thing that D'Artagnan took Apollo on his quest, had the dog been present he would have torn Buckingham apart within seconds. Like this, Aramis was doing his best to ignore the Duke for most of the evening, successfully until the king asked him about his nose. Aramis' wish had been granted and it didn't heal without getting crooked, most certainly a point of contempt for the vain man. Making up a fantastical tale about how he had been jumped but managed to overpower the devastating odds, Aramis could barely hold in his laughter, his remark he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried.

"If only I could have been there to witness your great heroism monsieur, I am sure your bravery must have been inspiring as you fought the bandits."

"Indeed, if only you could have been there."

Buckingham's voice could have cut through marble and had his eyes been muskets, Aramis would have several gaping holes in his head. Like this however, he merely smirked Buckingham's way, taunting him, tempting him to blow his cover and attack. He asked for the Duke to elaborate on his tale, enjoying himself greatly as the bastard struggled to add more details without losing himself in the lies. By the end of the night, the tale had been blown to such proportions that nobody believed it anymore and feeling like his work was done, Aramis finally felt the last few clouds lifting from his mind. He had his friends, he had a great dog and he had managed to embarrass Buckingham before the king. Life was good.

* * *

><p><em>1 – this is largely an in-joke between me and my sister who helped with the whole dog idea because Luke Evans (Aramis in the 2011 movie) played Apollo in the Clash of the Titans. He also played Zeus in Immortals but Apollo sounded like a better name for a dog<em>

_2 – this scene is completely inspired by a piece of information Wikipedia had on this breed of dog "They will even herd humans by nibbling on their ankles or guiding with their heads and guide them to his master if ordered"_


	5. Athos, Weight

_Since Athos and Aramis got the most votes when I asked you what you'd like to read next, I decided that Athos would get to go first. The idea is inspired by the fact that Luke Evans is considerably slimmer than Mathew MacFadyen and Ray Stevenson and how amusing I found it that they tried to hide the fact with the clothes they made for them. While I think the costume department did an absolutely fantastic job, I still find it funny for some odd reason. _

_Also, I realize that Athos might be slightly OOC in parts but that was the intent. That being said, I hope you'll enjoy!_

_Side note – Apollo the dog makes another appearance _

* * *

><p>Even busy cities like Paris usually slept at this time of the night as darkness enveloped the streets and buildings. The air was blessedly cool and more than one window remained open to let the breeze in. Everybody slept peacefully, roaming in the land of dreams as their bodies rested in comfortable beds. All but one. A single window wasn't as dark as its counterparts but instead a soft candle light shone through it. Athos had stayed awake and indulged himself in his favourite pastime, heavy drinking. If only his alcohol tolerance wasn't so high, he would have started feeling numb long ago; unfortunately he wasn't as lucky and despite the quantity he had consumed, he didn't feel any better nor did he begin to forget the past. Pondering what was in store for the musketeers in the near future, he sneered and drowned his cup in one.<p>

A blasted celebration of some sort that the king had ordered and expected his musketeers to attend. They were supposed to arrive in their best clothes, mingle with those invited and generally act as yet another pretty decoration the king possessed. None of them really looked forward to it but Athos hated the idea the most. It reminded him of just how preposterous and pretentious people were, especially the rich and powerful. Sadly he wasn't gravely injured, not that he didn't consider getting shot just to avoid it, and so he had to attend whether he liked it or not. Sighing, he walked over to his wardrobe and opened the heavy door as quietly as a thief. He rummaged in the back until he found what he was looking for, his fancy clothes designed especially for occasions like this. It's been a while since the last time he had to put them on... long before they had known D'Artagnan, long before Milady and the fiasco of a mission.

Shaking his head to clear it of memories of better times, he took the heavy garment out of the wardrobe and laid it out on the bed. In the light of the candle the clothes were a deep burgundy, reflecting the light with expensive ornaments that were strewn over them. Sitting down on the bed, Athos gently ran his fingers over the clothes, feeling the different textures of expensive fabric the garment was masterfully sewn from. How long ago was it that he wore those clothes with pride... he had been a different man back then. And now he was expected to become that man once more, even if just for one day and night. Sighing again, he stood up and decided to try the costume of a much happier and wealthier Athos on.

His body had almost forgotten how to hold itself like a true nobleman, shoulders squared, head held high and chest boasting with pride. His mind didn't forget though and remembered all the training he had received as a child. Back then, he had a name with an admirable reputation that he had to uphold and servants to help him dress. Now he was much older, poorer, didn't give a rat's ass about his reputation and dressed himself in the dark of the night. Perhaps his memory wasn't as clear as he had previously thought as he had barely managed to put the expensive pants on. He could have sworn they used to be looser, he was almost afraid to sit down in them now in case they split. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued dressing until the time came to button up the upper garment. He could feel his lungs getting restricted as button upon button was fastened. About halfway through, he began to reconsider his sobriety. Clearly he had to be at least mildly incapacitated since he seemed unable to make the buttons listen to him. Or perhaps it was the low light of the candle that didn't illuminate the process enough. Either way, he looked down and noticed that his senses hadn't been deceived. He really couldn't button it up over his protruding belly.

With great horror Athos realized that it truly could be described as a belly. Surely his life as a musketeer wouldn't allow for such a thing to happen? It was then that Athos recognized he had been hitting the bottle more heavily without getting much exercise lately; the missions were few and far between and barely any of them required more than a short fight. He was mortified at the prospect but still wouldn't believe the proof. Tomorrow, he would wake up from his alcoholic stupor and come to his senses. He was only imagining things. With that, he took the garment off and put it back into the wardrobe, as far back as he could. All night he had been restless, tossing and turning in his bed.

Naturally, he had been in a really sour mood in the morning as the result, not that the others noticed anything different about it since Athos was rarely anything but sour early in the day. He was sitting in the kitchen and glaring at the empty fireplace when the other inhabitants slowly shuffled downstairs. D'Artagnan was the first to come down for breakfast, however, he wasn't a good reference point to Athos. The boy was positively gawky, how he could remain so with the amount he ate was beyond Athos but he attributed it to youth. He also hadn't been around them for too long just yet and so would be useless for what Athos had in mind. The next one down was Porthos and looking inconspicuously at himself and then back at the large musketeer, Athos was happy to note that the other man was much heavier around the waist than him. He could feel himself relax a little at this find. And then Aramis descended the stairs and all of Athos' happiness went down the drain. Unlike D'Artagnan who hadn't fully grown into himself yet, Aramis was a fully fledged man, lean and graceful and without a single gram of extra fat on him. Losing what little appetite Athos had, he stood up, pierced Aramis with a rather angry stare and left in a hurry. Aramis was left flabbergasted at the odd behaviour of his friend, wondering what he could have done to anger Athos so.

"Aramis, what did you do this time?"

"Me? I wasn't aware that I've done anything."

Shrugging, the trio just wrote it off as Athos being in a particularly foul mood and attacked the food with gusto.

* * *

><p>Athos had been thinking about his weight the whole day, slowly remembering all those late night snacks to go along with his wine, the irregular eating times and the pitiful lack of activity. He wasn't really a vain man; he didn't completely ignore hygiene and basic grooming but compared to Aramis and Porthos, he didn't pay much mind to his appearance. After all, he had no desire to impress anybody, least of all women that would only want to use him anyway. And he didn't go out for anything besides missions, patrols and late nights in the tavern, none of which required a particularly extensive prepping. However it was obvious that he had neglected himself a smidge too much. Realizing there was no way around it but to lose weight if he wanted to fit into his fancy clothes since he didn't have the money to purchase new ones, he decided to start by cutting his meals. No more snacks, no more breakfast and only a light lunch and dinner. It could prove challenging to avoid meals without the others noticing but he was sure he could find plenty of excuses should any one of them ask him about it. After all, he hadn't slept well last night and didn't feel like eating earlier and now he had responsibilities that needed attending. He couldn't spare the time needed for a feast.<p>

It fit his intent that he would only return early in the morning the next day after his night patrol, he could easily claim he had gotten something to eat before returning. Since during the day the others would be busy, he could hopefully avoid them until the evening when he would eat a little before retreating to his room. They were used to him leaving their company without much warning and wouldn't question it. Content with his plan, he went on his way to the barracks before his patrol began.

* * *

><p>For 3 days now, he had managed to avoid breakfast and only really ate a light dinner with the other musketeers so that they wouldn't get too suspicious. Porthos and D'Artagnan hadn't really noticed anything out of the ordinary, too busy with their own food and love lives to care much for the rest. Aramis had a nagging feeling that something wasn't right but he himself had been distracted by a rather lovely new acquaintance that requested he help her with her studies of the Bible. Who was he to refuse her sweet pleading and not offer private daily lessons? Athos could only presume that the supposed <em>lessons<em> went well since Aramis was in an unnaturally cheerful mood.

On the fourth day, Athos' mood was bad even by his standards in no small thanks to the drastic diet. As he returned from his patrol, he found Aramis in front of their house, gently combing Apollo until the fur was no longer tangled and shone healthily. Normally, the dog would come and greet him when he returned home but getting combed was obviously preferable to saying hi. Aramis smiled when he saw him approach and attempted to strike up a conversation which Athos quickly quenched, saying he had better things to do than gossip with Aramis like an old hag. With that he stormed into the house and into his room, locking the door from the inside to prevent any more disturbances.

Turning back to Apollo, Aramis looked at him quizzically.

"Any idea what's gotten into him?"

Apollo just barked once and turned to give Aramis access to the other side that he hadn't combed out yet. Chuckling, Aramis got back to work planning to ask Athos what was wrong with him the next day should he still act so weirdly.

Deciding that yelling at Aramis wouldn't really solve his problems even if every look at his slim figure aggravated him, Athos began planning step two of his plan. Clearly, not eating was helping but it wouldn't be enough to get him back to his old physique in the 2 weeks he had left before the event. He would need to intensify his exercise as well. It would be easy to get D'Artagnan to spar with him more often in the next few days; the boy was always up for a fight, especially a friendly one with the other musketeers. He could also start up a row or two with the cardinal's guards, they were common enough to not raise suspicion. Before any more ideas came to him, his stomach growled loudly letting him know that it wasn't happy with his new life style and that it demanded an immediate compensation. Ignoring the pains, Athos himself didn't miss the food nowhere near as much as the wine. Sadly he had to cut on his drinking to stay focused and it was taking a toll. He wasn't sure he could keep it up for so many more days without murdering somebody.

Forcing his mind back on the task at hand, he tried to put together what he had observed about Aramis. Clearly the man was very good at keeping fit and Athos hated to admit that he used him for inspiration. So far, he had taken note that Aramis enjoyed food like all of them and ate his fair share, it just seemed as if he never gained any weight because of it. Then again, he was an active man. When he wasn't fighting, he was off somewhere for a romantic meeting getting plenty of exercise that Athos had solely missed ever since that snake betrayed him and he swore women off for good. He was also constantly taking Apollo for a run, claiming that it was healthy for both the dog and himself. While Athos didn't see much appeal in the activity, it could work. All he needed was a good excuse to take over for Aramis.

Perhaps he could use Aramis' new _student_ to his advantage. Appearing like a good friend, he would offer to take Apollo for a run instead of Aramis so he could attend to his other duties. Better yet, he knew he had snapped at his friend that day and the offer could be part of his apology. Making up his mind, he lay down on his bed and tried to fall asleep knowing it would be the only way to shut up his aching belly.

Early the next day, he knocked on Aramis' door and apologized once he was let in.

"I do not know what came over me yesterday my friend, I hope you can forgive me my harsh words."

"But of course Athos, there is no ill blood between us. I do feel inclined to ask though, are you faring well?"

"Yes, of course. I was just having one of my moods, nothing more. I do think that I should make it up to you though and since I know that you will be busy with your new student in the next few days, I came to offer to take Apollo for a run in your place."

At first, Aramis just stared at Athos as if he had grown another head. Him and run with Apollo? There was something inherently wrong about the idea that Aramis couldn't explain, so much so that the simple notion was actually quite amusing. A picture of the big brooding Athos running through a field with Apollo beside him popped into his mind and it took a lot of self-control not laugh into Athos' face. But he had known Athos for years and realized better than most that he didn't offer such a service lightly and it wouldn't do to react that way. Deciding to play along since he sensed something else that he wasn't privy to was happening than Athos simply being apologetic, Aramis graced him with a smile.

"I would be most grateful if you did that Athos. It is true that I won't have enough time to take Apollo for our usual 2 hour runs in the near future. I'm sure Apollo will appreciate it as well."

"Then it's decided. I shall leave you to what you were doing before now."

Without any further words, Athos left Aramis' room and went to prepare for his patrol. He hoped nobody would notice that he skipped another breakfast.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, Athos returned from the patrol to find Apollo patiently waiting for him in his room. The dog was giving him a curious look as if he was trying to make up his mind whether Athos would be able to keep up with him or not. Squaring his shoulders and standing a bit more proudly, Athos refused to be questioned by a mere dog. He'd never admit to anybody just how Apollo's unimpressed gaze affected him and refused to acknowledge that he wasn't the only one who noticed he might not have been as athletic as Aramis. Without further ado, he put on slightly less restrictive clothing and taking a hold of Apollo's leash, went on his way followed closely by the dog. He decidedly ignored Porthos' surprised gaze as they left the house and once outside, took a turn that would take them to the outskirts of Paris. It wasn't a secret that Aramis and Apollo preferred to run on the meadows surrounding the city or, if Aramis really wanted to challenge himself, through the forest. Once there, Athos took off the leash, stretched a little and started out in a light jog. Apollo just looked at him with mild disbelief and giving him a head start, he raced after the musketeer at full speed.<p>

Athos was almost run over by the dog and cursed as he saw him disappear in the distance. Turning around, Apollo expected to see the musketeer kick up the pace to try and match him but no such luck, Athos was just as slow as before. Running back, he began nudging Athos forward with his head, making the man curse even louder. Not that Apollo cared much. Finally, Athos understood what he wanted and began to sprint. Missing his beloved Aramis more by the second, Apollo acknowledged that this was the most he would get out of Athos and ran after him, determined to enjoy the speed no matter how pitiful it was. However, the race ended up less than 20 minutes later when Athos practically collapsed onto the grass. He was red in the face, gasping for air as his lungs demanded more oxygen and he could feel intense pain between his ribs from not breathing enough. He was sweating, thirsty and his legs hurt. Feeling utterly miserable and angry at himself for allowing his body to get to this laughable state, he wondered why he never realized this lack of stamina. Apollo sat down by him looking very unimpressed, making the musketeer feel even worse.

Wiping his brow, Athos kept thinking about his fighting style, trying to find out where he went wrong. He was an efficient fighter, capable of facing dire odds and coming out a victor. However, he realized that his style was slightly more static, he fought with efficiency but without moving too much. That's why he never ran out of breath but didn't possess too much stamina. In comparison, Aramis was all over the place, climbing over obstacles and running from enemy to enemy to dispose of them gracefully. The fact that Athos hadn't dived since Venice couldn't have helped either. Looking at Apollo, he sighed and petted the dog.

"I'm getting old and useless."

However, the dog wasn't interested in his melancholy and gave him a look that said quite clearly to get off his ass and do something about it rather than moan. Wondering when he began thinking the dog so intelligent, Athos got back up on his feet and prepared for another round. For all his brooding, when he set his mind on something, he got it.

* * *

><p>What he wouldn't have given for a horse right now, having to trudge back home seemed like an impossible feat. He even entertained the thought of riding Apollo for a second; clearly the lack of oxygen was affecting his mind even if the dog was fairly large. Leaning onto his companion heavily, Athos stumbled on his way. He was completely exhausted, drenched in sweat and wanted to simply curl into a ball and die. It didn't help that he hadn't eaten almost anything in the last 5 days, his body demanded he make up for the lost energy. Apollo stayed close to Athos, taking small measured steps to match his pace. He was alert in case the musketeer collapsed and ready to come get help should Athos need it. By sheer force of will, Athos made it back home, he even took the last few steps alone to try and act as if he wasn't dead on his feet. Crossing the threshold, he postponed the idea of challenging D'Artagnan by at least a day. He would be lucky to make it up the stairs as it was. Bypassing the kitchen, he was stopped by Apollo before he could go up. He told him to move away, tried to get around him but nothing helped.<p>

Looking at the worn man critically, Apollo herded him back to the kitchen and forced him to sit down. Keeping his eyes on the musketeer, he didn't move until Athos gave up and ordered Planchet to prepare something for him. He hated his weakness as he lost against the dog but had to admit he felt slightly better once he ate. Apollo had no more reservations about letting him go and followed the musketeer upstairs, making sure the fool didn't pass out halfway there. Only once it was clear that Athos didn't need him anymore did Apollo go to his and Aramis' room to wait for his master. He thought he deserved a treat for having to put up with the older musketeer and would demand it from Aramis once he returned.

* * *

><p>The next day Athos woke up and stretched, yelping in pain as muscles that normally didn't get much of a workout burned after yesterday's activities. The pain more than anything made Athos realize that he would need to change his life style more permanently. He was a soldier, a king's musketeer and here he was, crippled after a simple run the day before. Determined to improve as quickly as possible, he got up and decided to pay D'Artagnan a visit to arrange for their sparring later that day. This was no longer about fitting into old clothes for some stupid banquet, now it was a question of pride and Athos could be a stubborn man if he put his mind to something.<p>

The youth practically lit up at the offer and agreed right away, very much looking forward to sparring with one of the men he admired the most. They agreed to meet late in the afternoon so that Athos would have plenty of time to take Apollo out and get ready. Determined to be on top form, Athos abandoned his diet and practically breathed the breakfast in. He ate much quicker than even Porthos was capable of, shocking the other musketeers who had never seen Athos behave so strangely. When asked about it though he told them that he was a busy man and that he had to get going. He even complemented Planchet on the food making all of them gape after his retreating form; he had been starving for days after all and any food tasted heavenly about now.

Back to the meadow with Apollo, the dog kept giving him slightly worried glances as he forced himself to run faster and farther than the day before. For all his determination, his body didn't magically transform over night and was still as easily exhausted as before. However, this time around he was unwilling to listen to the complaints and pushed himself forward. Deciding that Athos would clearly need surveillance outside of the running sessions, Apollo made up his mind. His master was fine and safe for the time being so it wouldn't hurt if he spent extra time with Athos. Running next to the man, he enjoyed the feel of the wind on his snout and tongue.

Wolfing down the lunch once he returned with Apollo, Athos was getting antsy. He wished for the afternoon to come already so he could face off with the youth. He thought he might have unlocked the secret to Aramis eating plenty while remaining lean; the running increased his appetite tenfold. Once he was finished, he retreated back to his room and under the ever watchful gaze of Apollo, practiced some of the more energetic moves that he hadn't used for ages. Stretching his muscles dealt with the ache from the running and he couldn't help but wonder how D'Artagnan would react to his changed fighting style. It would be a nice change to catch the boy off guard since it was usually the other way around.

Once the time came, Athos went down and entered the backyard they had at their disposal and usually used for sparring; D'Artagnan was already waiting for him. Smiling at the boy, Athos managed to unnerve him right off the bat. Athos never smiled before a sparring match, ever. Wondering what had gotten into his friend and mentor, D'Artagnan prepared himself for the battle and nodded at Athos. Nothing could prepare him for what happened afterwards though.

Athos fought like a man possessed; attacking furiously he forced the boy to step back if he wanted his limbs to remain intact. Normally, the musketeers didn't hold back when fighting each other per se but right now, Athos was attacking with single-minded intend. D'Artagnan was sweating by the time he managed to recover from the shock and match his opponent to even their chances. It felt like he was fighting a different man than his friend and he had to admit that he enjoyed himself thoroughly. Finally a good challenge worthy of his skill. Back and forth, they had circled the small backyard a dozen of times, neither man managing to land the winning blow. Both were gasping from the exertion, their clothes drenched in sweat that also glistened on their faces in the sun. The fight didn't lose any of its ferociousness even despite how long it's been lasting. Porthos had come to get them for supper 10 minutes ago but found himself mesmerized by the fight. He hadn't seen Athos fight like this for years and couldn't tear his eyes off of him. The only thing saving D'Artagnan from defeat was his own energetic style. Again and again they attacked, crossing swords and trading jabs.

In the end, a lose stone was what determined the winner. Too preoccupied by Athos' sword, D'Artagnan didn't see it until he slipped on it and fell on his ass. Looking up at Athos over the sword resting on his neck, D'Artagnan gave up and collapsed onto the ground. He was exhausted but felt better than ever and began laughing. Panting heavily, Athos just raised his brow at the boy and shook his head. He would never understand him. His thoughts were interrupted by clapping as Porthos complimented both on the fight and finally told them that food was ready. Helping D'Artagnan stand back up, they arranged for a rematch and went on the hunt for food. Both of them were starving after such an exercise.

* * *

><p>Days were going by and Athos found himself enjoying the running with Apollo more and more. He no longer felt like his lungs may explode and enjoyed the activity. Apollo stopped giving him worried looks and ran alongside him happily. D'Artagnan had challenged him to several more fights, most of which he had won, and even Porthos offered a sparring match or two. Aramis was ever grateful for taking care of Apollo though he kept giving him curious looks as if he tried to figure something out. He would look him over but if he noticed anything different, he didn't comment.<p>

The eve before the royal feast, Athos once again found himself in the room up at night. He had taken the clothing out of the wardrobe and simply stared at it. Minutes passed before he undressed and started putting the fancy garment on once more. However, this time around he could fit the pants just fine and didn't have too much trouble buttoning up the rest. Congratulating himself, he took it off and decided to celebrate the small victory with a bottle of wine, he deserved it.

The next day, Aramis searched Porthos out in the crowd and joined him in a far too good mood. Porthos began frowning when he saw his friend and decidedly ignored him.

"I do believe you owe me 5 Francs dear Porthos."

The larger man merely grumbled something that Aramis couldn't make out.

"I won fair and square."

"You did."

"Then there shouldn't be any problems with you paying my winnings should it?"

"Remind me to never make a bet with you again."

"How else would I win your money so easily my friend?"

Shaking his head at Aramis, Porthos couldn't believe that Athos managed to fit into those old clothes of his. After all, it seemed to Porthos that he had been gaining weight lately. Plus, he had an appetite that matched his and D'Artagnan's combined in the last 2 weeks so Porthos was certain that he wouldn't be able to put the tight clothes on. Apparently, he was wrong and Aramis now how had his money. He should have known something was up when the former priest agreed to the bet right away as if he was absolutely certain of winning.

Athos didn't quite understand what Aramis thanked him for when they got home as he had already thanked him for Apollo before. He also said that his student no longer needed him and that he would be able to pick up the running starting next day, Athos would almost miss the time spent with the canine. But he just shrugged his shoulders and grabbed a bottle of wine. Now that this whole ordeal was over, it was time to indulge in his favourite pastime again.


	6. All Four Musketeers, Sleep

_Oy, where do I start with this one? Let's just say that the idea came to me one night past 3am when I was unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep. It's inspired by several things and for the most part is pure crack that does have some angst near the end. I am rather interested in what you'll all think about this, whether it was funny, insane or actually too much. Either way, enjoy!_

* * *

><p>The mission was done. They successfully saved the day and could return home with the knowledge that the king would get to rule for one more day without the cardinal stabbing him in his back and that France could rest peacefully. For the last part of their journey back home, even the horses refused to gallop, too tired from the long ride to carry their owners quickly. The riders were no better off, practically falling asleep in their saddles. It's been a long day and all of them couldn't wait to just pass out in their own soft beds.<p>

It was dark by the time they finally arrived and took care of the horses. All of them planned to walk up to their rooms and go to bed as quickly as possible. Only, they hadn't eaten anything that day and Porthos' stomach growled loudly as they passed the kitchen. The others were so tired that they didn't even have the energy to make fun of him. However, the sound reminded all of them of the pitiful lack of food and sharing a look, they agreed to make a short stop for at least a snack. Rummaging around the kitchen, there wasn't much point waking Planchet up, they located half a loaf of bread and some cheese. Wolfing the food down that they split into 4 roughly equal parts, they chased it down with some wine and stumbled to their beds. All of them were asleep before their heads even hit the pillows.

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan felt like he was floating, pictures of fantastical scenery passing before his eyes as he flew through the sky and clouds. He was free and happy, laughing gleefully at the feeling. There was nothing to hold him down, nothing to stop him. Faster than his horse could ever carry him, he flew above the land, over cities and forests, meadows and rivers. Leaving the country he was so familiar with, he began flying higher and higher, passing birds and clouds until he could no longer see the land below. Instead, he saw what looked like a floating piece of land above him. Wondering how it managed to stay up in the air, D'Artagnan decided to investigate. Once he reached his destination, he landed down on his feet gracefully, looking around in wonder. Everything looked as if it was made of marble - the floor, the stairs leading to a palace above, the table... it was then that he noticed 3 figures standing on top of the stairs, debating furiously. Looking at them closely, he realized that they were his three friends, only different. Very different.<p>

The first one he noticed was Aramis, partly due to what he was wearing, partly due to what he wasn't. It seemed that he had a scandalously short miniskirt that looked golden and only reached about half of his thighs, a bare chest and a long coat that was floating whenever he gestured wildly. His hair was shorter and there was a brass leafy crown on his head. He had sandals, several golden accessories and abdominal muscles that D'Artagnan had never seen on him before. He looked as if the weight of the whole universe rested on his shoulders as he argued his point.

Then there was Porthos. He had long curly hair and an even longer curlier beard the colour of copper. He was wearing heavy shiny full body armour which had an intricate and heavily ornamental design, underneath he had reddish clothes that showed between the armour plates. He had a much bigger belly that spoke volumes about his appetites and he was leaning on a massive axe that reached his chest. However, he was still as cheerful and as loud as the old Porthos which was at least some comfort.

And then there was Athos, or at least D'Artagnan presumed it was Athos. He looked somehow older, sporting copper hair and a beard that was possibly even longer than Porthos'. He was dressed in a tunic that was partly covered with fur and a long skirt. He also had sandals and a helmet with plenty of his own gold accessories. There was an eagle sitting on his right shoulder and in his hand he held a hammer. He had a commanding aura and while he said little, his words appeared to have much meaning to the other 2.

Blinking a few times, D'Artagnan realized that this vision wouldn't go away anytime soon and so he decided to go up the stairs to join them. He announced his presence by clearing his throat and giving them a questioning look.

"Athos? Aramis? Porthos? What exactly are you doing?"

"Athos?"

"Aramis?"

"Porthos? You must be mistaking us for somebody else lad."

The one who looked like Aramis indicated each of them while explaining.

"This is the Slavic god Perun, that is the Nordic god Volstagg and I myself am the Greek god Zeus (1). We are here to debate whether you are worthy of becoming a god yourself young one."

"A god? Me?"

D'Artagnan burst into laughter that sounded slightly forced even to his ears.

"Come on guys, this isn't funny. Well, your clothes are but that's beside the point."

The trio exchanged a disappointed look, ignoring the complaint about their fashion.

"It seems that the boy is not ready to become one of us just yet. He still has so much to learn."

"That is true Perun but it's also true that he proved himself on numerous occasions. It was his own free will to risk his life and protect the others."

"And he's great with a sword, the way he dealt with the guards."

"Volstagg, being good with a sword is not enough to become a god!"

"It isn't?"

"I agree with Perun that it's not but as I said, he did do more than just that."

"But he is still not ready for all the responsibilities that come with it."

And so, the bickering continued without any indication that it might end anytime soon. D'Artagnan just stood by them, his short figure dwarfed by the presence of these gods. This whole thing was very surreal to him as they ignored his other attempts to start a conversation. He also didn't like the topic of the conversation all that much because it hit far too close to home. He winced every time that one of them said something that sounded uncomfortably like how he view himself and soon, all of their voices mashed together with a repeated litany of "Not ready, not ready, not ready..."

With a start, D'Artagnan woke up gasping for air. Once he came to, he realized he was sitting up in his bed; it appeared that the night hadn't passed yet. The dream kept repeating itself in his head and he couldn't help but shiver when he remembered the ending. The only thing that kept his spirits up somewhat was remembering how the others were dressed. Lying back down, he waited for his breathing to calm before closing his eyes once more. Unfortunately, sleep wouldn't claim him as he kept replaying the dream over and over.

* * *

><p>Porthos was walking across a busy street in Paris, he was in a very good mood and didn't hide it. He had just purchased some new fancy clothes and practically pranced and preened, capturing the gazes of all passersby. He basked in the envious looks of men and the admiring looks of women that he kept getting left and right. Humming a tune he continued, indulging himself and exchanging a few coy looks with some of the mademoiselles. There were several he wouldn't have minded striking up a conversation with but he had a destination in mind and what awaited him would be worth more than any of them. At least, he had a feeling it would, he didn't know for certain as he had no idea what was in the house. Knowing he broke at least a few hearts on his way, he finally walked up the front steps of the house and knocked on the door. Moments later a servant opened it and beckoned him inside, taking his coat once he entered.<p>

When the servant left, Porthos twirled up his moustache and peeked inside the salon. What awaited him there practically made him drool. There were 3 mademoiselles inside, currently all 3 were turned to him with their backs, giving him more time to look to his heart's content. One of them was a really petite creature, small and thin and undoubtedly regal in that youthful way women of her stature were. Then there was one who's curves would be considered unattractive by many but Porthos appreciated them right away; he enjoyed well built women and couldn't keep the smile off his face as he imagined what a lovely bust she must have. The third one was a perfect mix of the two, tall, definitely well built but still lean. There was no doubt in Porthos' mind that she would be the most precious gem his eyes ever laid upon, the perfect picture of beauty.

Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he waited for them to turn around. His mind came to a screeching halt and for at least a minute no air went into his lungs. He had been correct far as their body types, but even he couldn't have expected what was in store for him with the faces. Before him, there stood the female versions of his friends (2). D'Artagnan was almost completely the same in this new form, so much so that it could have been his twin sister. Porthos barely recognized Athos without his ever present beard though the features on the woman were considerably softer than on the male counterpart. The eyes held the same sharpness though. And then there was Aramis... just like with Athos, there was no facial hair and considerably softer features though this female version truly was a beauty to behold. She also shared Aramis' joy of courting it seemed as she gave Porthos very coy looks over her fan. Deciding that to leave them waiting would be the epitome of rudeness, Porthos stepped forward only to stumble over something he didn't notice and fell right on his face.

Waking up with a start, Porthos stared at the dark ceiling for a while, remembering what he dreamt of. The female versions of his friends really were beauties, each in her own special way, and he couldn't help but feel aroused. Partly disturbed as well but mostly aroused. Attempting to go back to sleep, he wanted to return to the company of the mademoiselles he so rudely left behind but the dream eluded him.

* * *

><p>Aramis was comfortable, very comfortable. He was lying on something soft, had to be a mattress of some sort. The air was pleasantly warm with a gentle cool breeze blowing over him periodically while the sweet smell of fresh exotic fruit permeated the space. He was in heaven, even more so when he felt soft but strong hands taking a hold of his aching feet and massaging the tension out of his soles. He practically melted into the mattress and moaned in appreciation. Whoever it was, they had the hands of an angel. He didn't ponder how he got here, or where here even was, just enjoyed the pleasant feelings with closed eyes. He was completely relaxed by the time the hands moved the massage up to his calves and decided it was time to find out who was his mysterious care giver.<p>

Opening his eyes lazily like a cat, the unmistakable form of Porthos came into focus. He was kneeling on the ground and massaging Aramis' feet devotedly. Raising an eyebrow but refraining from commenting, Aramis looked behind him at the source of the breeze only to find Athos holding a large fan. He kept his movement slow and steady, his eyes lay on the fan as if he didn't dare loot at Aramis. Turning his head to the other side as his eyebrow rose even higher, Aramis was greeted with D'Artagnan kneeling on the ground and holding a tray of fresh fruit that he stretched towards Aramis.

"Would you like some fruit master?"

The youth also kept his eyes downcast, waiting for Aramis' orders. Taking the whole scene in once more, Aramis noticed that his friends were all dressed in simple white tunics and pants, nothing fancy unlike his own clothes. The soft mattress underneath him was actually a plush divan and the whole room looked very lavish with all of the tasteful decorations. Putting two and two together, Aramis smiled.

"Yes, master would like some fruit."

Aramis wasn't a bad man and he didn't like using people but there wasn't anything wrong with indulging himself from time to time was there? At least that's how he justified it to himself as he let D'Artagnan hand feed him while Porthos kept massaging his feet and Athos fanning him. He felt all the tension leaving his body as he let them take care of him; that is until he got a little too lazy and didn't chew his fruit properly. Just as he started choking on a grape, he woke up and almost fell off his bed.

Gasping for air he realized that he wasn't really choking anymore, that his feet hurt again and that it had only been a dream. A really really nice dream but a dream nonetheless. Sighing in disappointment, he tried to get comfortable in his bed again but he was unable to find the right position and the beautiful dream got too far away to recapture. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to find out if Porthos truly was that good at giving a foot massage and wondered how he could get him to give him one if he was.

* * *

><p>Athos was in the kitchen, the lonely empty kitchen that once belonged to all of them but now was his alone. An impressive number of empty bottles and cups littered the table while he emptied yet another one, not even feeling what kind of alcohol it was. He was numb, absolutely numb and there was nothing to ever make him feel again. They had left him, all of them. He remembered the day that Porthos came to them, claiming he had finally found his one true mistress that was going to marry him once her old husband died. They had all laughed it off as it hadn't been the first time Porthos said so but 3 weeks later, the husband fell ill and 4 days after that he died peacefully in his sleep. The possibility of Porthos marrying suddenly became real and none of them were quite prepared when he announced that he was leaving the musketeers. D'Artagnan and Aramis were happy for him, congratulating him and promising to come to his wedding and visit as often as possible. Athos however couldn't force a smile upon his face and merely nodded at Porthos. He didn't trust his voice not to betray him.<p>

The ceremony was beautiful and it was clear that while the bride had inherited quite a lot of money, she couldn't wait to spend it on a lifetime with Porthos. Aramis and D'Artagnan had kept their promises and visited him as often as possible; Athos couldn't find the will to see Porthos so happy without them and avoided him. Porthos took his coldness badly and cut all ties between them.

Next in line was Aramis. It had been clear that lately being a musketeer wasn't enough for the man and that Athos' fears would soon come true. None of them were surprised when he told them one day that he wanted to leave the musketeers and become a priest again, hopefully even more someday. D'Artagnan had been supportive and Porthos ecstatic for his friend; only Athos remained cold. He berated Aramis for abandoning them when they were already a man short. Aramis never got angry with him like Porthos did but it was clear that his words cut deep and hurt the soon-to-be priest. He looked at Athos with sad eyes the day he left but he never turned back.

But perhaps the greatest betrayal of them all had come from D'Artagnan. Having nobody else left, Athos clang onto the young man almost desperately, becoming a second father, a brother, a mentor. He would never forget the pain he felt as he held D'Artagnan's body. He would never forget the blood that ran out of the shot wound on the boy's chest, nor the blood that ran out of his mouth. The fear and pain in D'Artagnan's eyes, the desperate fight to survive that couldn't be won. D'Artagnan had died in his arms and there was nothing Athos could have done to change it. The day they buried the boy was the first, last and only time that Athos cried.

He had lost them all and no matter how much alcohol he drank, he couldn't fill the void that remained. He became a complete recluse and eventually managed to run even Planchet away with his unpleasant demeanour. And so he sat in the dark kitchen and drank, all alone.

Athos woke with a heavy weight on his chest that he only later identified as fear and sorrow. The painful remains of the nightmare still haunted his mind, the hate in Porthos' eyes, the sadness in Aramis' and the nothingness of death in D'Artagnan's. He wouldn't fall asleep again, probably not even the next night and shaking his head in a feeble attempt to get rid of the dream, he got up. There would be no point in staying in bed and he could get at least some wine in the kitchen.

Padding downstairs silently so as not to wake the others up, he was surprised to see D'Artagnan already there. He hated to admit just how relieved he felt at seeing the boy alive and well, drinking a glass of water as he watched the flames in the fireplace he must have started not so long ago. Once he got the wine, Athos sat by the table, offering silent company. Before the younger man attempted to start what would undoubtedly be a one-sided conversation, Aramis shuffled down himself and looked at them in surprise.

"Couldn't sleep either huh?"

Athos didn't bother answering as it was clear from the fact that he was drinking in the kitchen rather than passed out in his bed while D'Artagnan just nodded his head sheepishly. Aramis thought that the younger man looked at him funnily for a moment but dismissed it and grabbing his beloved bible, he began reading it by the fire. A few minutes later, Porthos joined them despite their quietness.

"I will be damned, are none of us able to sleep tonight?"

"It would seem so my friend."

"Well, what's your excuse?"

"I've-"

D'Artagnan couldn't quite hold the giggle in as he remembered the questionable clothes and hair his friends had.

"I had a weird dream."

"You too D'Artagnan? I myself was plagued by odd visions."

"Would you care to enlighten us Porthos?"

"Erm... you don't want to hear it Aramis, really."

"Come on Porthos, your dreams couldn't have been any weirder than mine."

"Don't be so sure lad."

"Ok, I'll start then. I dreamt that I was flying above France like a bird when I saw something in the sky. Flying up I realized that it was a floating piece of land and that you three were already there. You claimed to be gods of some sort, Zeus, Vol-something and a Slavic god and debated whether I should join your ranks. I must have had fever as I dreamt it though because you all had the oddest of clothes on. Especially you Aramis."

"Me?"

"Yes. You had on something that looked like a gold shiny skirt. It barely covered you."

Aramis' eyes bulged while Porthos burst into loud laughter. D'Artagnan had the good grace to blush.

"Well that figures. In my dreams, Aramis was a woman."

Now it was D'Artagnan's turn to burst into insane laughter and even Athos almost snorted. Aramis didn't appear to see anything funny about the situation at all.

"Well, you all were actually."

That made D'Artagnan stop laughing and Athos scoff.

"Is there something you two would like to tell me? Clearly there must be as I haunt your dreams either like a woman or at least dressed like one, slutty to boot."

Aramis' cold gaze was too much and D'Artagnan and Porthos burst into more laughter, making fun of Aramis any way they could think of. Getting up in mock anger that Aramis couldn't bring himself to truly feel, he sat next to Athos.

"Please tell me that if you had dreams with me in them, I was a man."

Athos didn't answer but Aramis could clearly see the pain in his friend's eyes and he sat even closer, practically leaning onto Athos' chair as he went back to reading his bible. Athos accepted the offered support and didn't move away, needing this more than he cared to admit.

The next morning, Planchet found his four masters like this, Porthos and D'Artagnan occasionally bursting into unexplainable laugher, Aramis glaring at them over his bible with eyes that promised retribution and Athos appearing uninterested in it all when he in fact observed every detail carefully as if it were to be the last time he got to. So in other words, nothing out of the ordinary for the servant.

* * *

><p><em>1 – I found it rather funny that most of the four musketeers played gods of some sort in their other movies. Luke (Aramis) played Zeus in Immortals and Apollo in Clash of the Titans, Ray (Porthos) played Volstagg in Thor, Logan (D'Artagnan) played Percy Jackson in the Percy Jackson movie which I've never seen... only Matthew (Athos) didn't play one to my knowledge so my sis came up with the idea to make him Perun. We are from Slovakia so that's pretty much why <em>

_2 – very much inspired by the old anime that made Aramis into a woman called Anime San Jushi that I used to watch as a kid and a few other things and songs that made Aramis into a woman_


	7. Aramis, Brain to mouth Filter

_A/N As this concept won the same amount of votes as Athos losing weight, I thought it fair to give it a go as well. Unfortunately, it was much harder to write than I expected and I apologize if it isn't up to the standard of the other stories and feels far too rushed. Maybe one day I'll revisit this chapter and edit it so that I'm happy with the results but for now I just can't seem to make it better. _

_However, I did get a few ideas for this collection besides the ones I had already planned so hopefully things should stay entertaining. Unless a great great idea comes to me or I change my plans completely, next in line shall be another crack fic with a bit of AU mixed in and then a rather dark, angsty and H/C type of story involving Aramis._

* * *

><p>The sun was shining from just above the horizon, gracing the land with the last minutes of light for the day as the four companions sparred in their backyard. Soon, Athos and D'Artagnan finished their session with Athos coming out victorious; Aramis and Porthos were still fighting viciously. It was always interesting to watch them spar as they didn't hold back and gave each other their all. Porthos was clearly the stronger of the two while Aramis was much quicker than the giant. D'Artagnan loved watching them fight each other because their styles were so different, nobody could ever guess what either of them would do to win. They never got away without plenty of bruises and cuts littering their bodies.<p>

Today was no different as Aramis sported bruised ribs and left shoulder from where Porthos had hit him with the blunt side of his sword. Porthos was no better off with several cuts marring his body ranging from small and shallow to a few deeper ones that were steadily leaking blood. Athos watched them carefully, ready to stop the fight before any real damage could be dealt; sometimes, those two could get carried away and act in the spur of the moment causing harm they would regret later.

The sun had almost completely disappeared and they were still fighting as if their lives depended on it when the fight came to an abrupt halt. Athos always claimed that his women would be the end of Aramis but he never imagined it would affect their sparring. Earlier that day, Aramis had visited one of his mistresses and gotten a token of appreciation from the mademoiselle, her soft handkerchief that she spritzed with her favourite perfume. During the fight, Porthos had managed to cut close to it, destroying the fabric of Aramis' clothes in the process. The handkerchief remained unharmed but was steadily getting closer to falling out. The moment it did, Aramis lost his concentration, his balance and consequently, the fight.

Unfortunately, the moment Aramis became preoccupied with the handkerchief, Porthos launched an attack on his head with his elbow. He expected Aramis to duck and didn't see any reason to pull it. With a loud crack, his elbow connected with Aramis' head, making the former priest drop to the ground unconscious. Staring at his fallen friend with wide eyes, Porthos didn't at first know how to react.

"Aramis?"

His voice sounded unsure and scared, such an attack from Porthos was no light matter. Running to the duo, D'Artagnan and Athos paled. Aramis wasn't moving. Dropping to his knees, Porthos gently shook him, calling his name again. The next few minutes were one of the worst for the trio since Aramis wasn't responsive. However, after some more prodding, the former priest finally began reacting. He groaned and grabbed his head shakily, it felt as if somebody split it open. Sighing in relief, the trio waited for their friend to regain awareness of his surroundings.

"Aramis, are you alright?"

"No I'm not alright you big fool, were you trying to kill me? Jesus but you pack the kick of a mule."

Nobody had a reply to that. Aramis wasn't known for exploding after a sparring accident and he had never taken Jesus' name in vain before, ever. Under any other circumstances, Porthos would have jumped at his throat for insulting him like that but this was so far off for Aramis, he didn't know how to react.

"Don't just stand there like a bunch of statues and help me up, can't you see I clearly need assistance?"

This was becoming quite scary. Aramis never asked for assistance, he'd rather bleed to death than admit he couldn't stand up on his own. And even if he had been forced to request it, he would have asked politely, not demanded.

"Have you all gone deaf or perhaps even more stupid than you were before?"

Now this was too much for all of them and they opened their mouths, ready to reply something as equally unpleasant and insulting. What stopped them was the shock on Aramis' face, as if he himself couldn't believe those words left his mouth.

"Did I really just say that out loud?"

"You did."

Athos' voice was colder than ice as he replied.

"You think we are stupid?"

"Your lack of interest in anything that even remotely touches upon education and books in general would imply so. There is also your common rash behaviour following the ideology of act first, think later. However, I have to concede that all of you exhibit moments of enlightenment when you appear almost genius, whether by luck or actual intellect is up for debate though."

Porthos was changing colours into a rather impressive red with every new word that left Aramis' mouth. D'Artagnan just stared at the fallen musketeer, he couldn't comprehend what was going on. Athos appeared to be keeping his cool at first glance though his eyes shot daggers through Aramis. The former priest himself appeared more and more mortified with each word that left his lips and attempted to shut himself up by putting his hand over his mouth. It didn't work perfectly as he kept on speaking, it was just muffled now and harder to understand. Angry at his friend, Porthos demanded he tell them what he thinks about himself since he thinks so little about them. To his surprise, Aramis' reply was just as honest as those before.

"I'm a genius that takes far too much pleasure in women to the point of sexual addiction. It's a small miracle I hadn't contracted a sexual disease just yet or at least managed to impregnate someone. Loyal to a fault, generally calm and collected but with a darker side simmering just under the surface. With all that I keep bottled in to maintain the calm appearance, I'm going to explode one day. Or get a heart attack."

Aramis was desperately attempting to shut himself up, blushing deep red as he admitted his faults with cold honesty. D'Artagnan stared on with his mouth open while Porthos lost his steam. Athos' eyes turned pensive as he looked Aramis over once more.

"Did something happen when Porthos hit you over the head?"

"It is quite possible that yes. As I have stated before, the oaf packs enough power to kill me with that kind of blow."

Before they could come to a conclusion, Planchet joined them and announced that supper was ready. They didn't even notice it got dark with all the commotion. Finally helping Aramis get back up on his feet, they waited for his head to stop spinning before the quartet went after the food. After all, it was always wise to eat first and think about the problem later. In reality, all of them hoped that the problem would solve itself magically while they ate but things never went easily for the four friends. Once they finished the meal, Athos ordered Aramis to sit closer to the fire so he could get a better look at his head.

A rather impressive bump was forming where Porthos had hit him but other than that, the musketeer seemed fine. There was the issue of his honesty of course but it presented no immediate life threatening danger, unless Porthos decided to kill him for one of his remarks of course. Fascinated by this new Aramis, D'Artagnan couldn't help but ask him about the King and Cardinal.

"The King? He has the maturity of a 3 year old wanting what's shiny and pretty and ignoring any possible responsibility there is. He lets himself be manipulated by anyone and everyone around him, be it the Cardinal, the Queen or others. Clearly in love with Anne but too stupid to show it, he latches onto the Cardinal because of his strength. He befriended you because you are around his age but clearly way more mature despite your own occasional childishness. We are nothing more than his toy soldiers that can do amusing things; any strategic possession of us completely eludes him.

The Cardinal is a cold man who wants power but at the same time does mean mostly well for France. He hates the Queen, thinks Louis is absolutely unsuitable for a king, which I have to agree with, and hates us with a passion for destroying some of his carefully constructed plans. He has no mercy for his enemies and little compassion for his underlings. For what he allows to happen in the Church under his watch, I could never forgive him."

While the last part pricked the interest of the others, Aramis rarely spoke about the days of his priesthood, Aramis went a shade paler and forced himself to shut up before he revealed any more. He'd said far too much already.

"Since I've said more than I should have and will reprimand myself for it as it is, I shall now run to my room and hide to avoid further questioning. Good night."

With that he quickly stood up and once the dark spots before his eyes cleared, strode to his room, locking it behind him to keep the others and their inquiries away.

* * *

><p>The next day, Aramis woke up with a mild headache and had the feeling that the problem hadn't gone away during the night. Yesterday, it only took 2 hours to admit things he hoped never to mention to anybody and he didn't feel safe joining the others just yet. They would mean well but none of them were above using his current unexplainable condition against him to find out more. Deciding he would need to go to their doctor as soon as possible in case there was a remedy, he began planning how to escape unnoticed. It was still early and most of them would be sleep.<p>

However, there was no doubt that Athos would realize his plan and keep on the lookout in case he tried to sneak out. But Athos would expect him to leave through the front door, giving Aramis a chance to make good use of other options. It's been a while since he last sneaked in or out through his window but he knew he could do it. Getting up and washing his face, Aramis decided that besides his usual clothes, he would put on his favourite cloak that hid most of his face to remain unnoticed on the streets. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and start a conversation. Dressing and taking an extra dagger with him in case some Cardinal's guards came across him, which could only cause trouble, he opened up his window and climbed down as silently as possible. Once on ground, he went to their stable for his horse. While it would be the longer way around, he chose an alternate route that didn't involve riding by their house to avoid being followed.

His paranoia wasn't unfounded as Athos barely slept during the night and currently sat in the kitchen in case their oddly behaving priest decided to do something stupid. He started getting suspicious when D'Artagnan and Porthos joined him but there was still no trace of Aramis. Getting up, he decided to go knock on his door and check up on the musketeer. There was no answer from the inside, not even a sound; Athos began getting worried. Wondering if he should kick the door in, he got enraged instead when D'Artagnan ran after him claiming that Planchet noticed Aramis' horse missing from the stable. Cursing at the sneaky bastard, they agreed to wait for him for a few hours and that if he wasn't back by lunch, they'd start a search.

In the end they didn't need to ride out as he did in fact return, if slightly worse for wear. Constance was with him and was currently giving him the cold shoulder with the occasional glare when his back was turned. Since Aramis couldn't help it when asked, he told them exactly what happened. Admitting that he escaped through the window, he explained that he went to the doctor in case there was a cure. Apparently there wasn't and while the doctor found his condition incredibly fascinating, he had nothing to give him. His only council was to wait it out as most effects of head injuries tended to be temporary. How long it meant though, he couldn't predict. Sad about the news, Aramis went on his way back home when he saw Constance about halfway through.

He would have avoided her due to his condition but it was clear that she was having problems with a few Cardinal's guards who knew of her involvement in the whole necklace fiasco. Ever the gentleman, Aramis rode to her rescue, fighting them off after a few exchanged words. Unable to stop himself, Aramis didn't sugar-coat anything about what he thought of their intellect nor their plotting superior, thus enraging the men beyond control. Thankfully he was a skilled fencer or it might have ended much worse. Like this, the Cardinal simply lost a few more guards; Aramis couldn't spare them in fear of his words reaching unwanted ears.

Since Constance was going to their home anyway because she was supposed to meet with D'Artagnan, Aramis offered to escort her in case more guards appeared. She was grateful for his help and thanked him but then she made a big big mistake. She asked Aramis how he was, kick-starting his brutally honest rant once more. By the end of it he had said a few choice things about her and D'Artagnan's relationship which resulted in the current situation. By the time Aramis was done explaining, barely leaving any details out, things only got worse.

His little fight with the guards hadn't gone unnoticed and the Cardinal used the King to request Aramis to come to the palace immediately and answer for his actions. Paling, Aramis looked at the others in horror.

"I can't go there, I just can't! I'll answer questions that I'm not supposed to answer and they will hang me for what I'll have to say."

All of them agreed that he wasn't actually being overdramatic. Even Constance who had been angry at his words felt compassion now that she understood what was wrong with him.

"True, but you can't exactly ignore the order either."

"But Athos, can't he claim he got severely injured in the fight making him unable to go?"

"I'm sure they saw him escorting me here in no particular hurry to get his injuries tended. The Cardinal won't believe it."

"Constance is right, Richelieu wouldn't buy it."

"Perhaps if we went instead of him? We could explain the sparring accident and say that he isn't feeling like himself right now and that he'll accept his punishment once he gets better."

"Better but not enough. I'm afraid you will have to go Aramis. Though it would be best if we went with you and did as much damage control as possible."

* * *

><p>It wasn't uncommon for the musketeers to be called to the palace to get reprimanded, and often rewarded, for fighting the Cardinal's guards. By now, the novelty of the act had pretty much worn off for all of them, even the majestic halls with lush tapestries and gold decorations no longer inspired as much awe as they used to. Today however, Aramis was the face of misery, dreading this particular meeting and what he might do. There was no telling what could leave his mouth and whether or not he would get executed for it. His three friends all came with him, ready to defend their comrade before the King and Cardinal. Even Constance joined in as she would be Aramis' greatest alibi. When they entered, the King didn't seem all that worried about what happened, if anything he was overjoyed that just one of his musketeers could take all of those guards without any help and come out the victor. The Cardinal glared at Aramis with open hostility, undoubtedly planning how to get him arrested.<p>

"Well well well, whom do we have here? The man himself who killed 5 Cardinal's guards this morning. Isn't that right Aramis?"

"I-"

"He would like to apologize for what happened your majesty but he acted on my behalf."

Everyone was taken aback by Constance interrupting Aramis.

"On your behalf Constance? Explain."

"You see your majesty, I was running an errand for the Queen when the guards stopped me. They must have confused me with someone else as they threatened to kill me for what I had supposedly done. Thankfully, Aramis was nearby and came to my rescue as he saw it."

"Is that so Aramis?"

"Yes my liege, I-"

"Very well. Coming to the rescue of the lady in waiting of our Queen is a commendable action. A pouch of gold shall be awarded for your bravery and chivalry. You will see to it Cardinal."

Appearing to be thinking about something, Louis turned to Richelieu with a confused face.

"Actually, what was the attack about Cardinal?"

"I am afraid I do not know your majesty. I promise to look into it at once. Such a mistake is not acceptable."

He gave Constance a piercing gaze during the word mistake, knowing full well that his guards accused her of the actions correctly but since he didn't want Louis to know about what happened any more than the rest, he played along.

"Good. That is all, you may leave now as there are other matters demanding the King's attention. Oh and Aramis, no more fighting with the Cardinal's guards you hear?"

"I-"

"We will make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble my King."

"Good, I count on you to do that Athos."

With that the King left, clearly in a good mood. The Cardinal looked as if he had swallowed a lemon and gave the pouch to Aramis reluctantly.

"I promise that this is not over. I will not stand for you killing my guards without repercussions."

"Maybe if they weren't-"

"What Aramis means to say is that we won't attack them without reason but if they are the ones to start the fight, we will be forced to act in self defence."

Richelieu glared at the group one more time before he himself left the hall, most probably to plot against the King and Queen some more. The musketeers relaxed visibly and turned to Constance.

"Thank you, for standing up for me. I-"

"Do not mention it Aramis. After all, it was you who came to my rescue."

"Yes, I haven't thanked you yet for keeping Constance safe Aramis."

"It was only-"

"And I believe that it would be best of I accompanied you on your duties for now Constance, in case the guards attempt something else. If you'll excuse us."

Following the girl like a devoted puppy, D'Artagnan left the three musketeers to themselves. Pulling Aramis against his side and grabbing his right shoulder, Porthos laughed heartily.

"Oh young love! Well, he's going to miss a hell of a lunch, that's for sure. After all, you are inviting us Aramis my dear friend."

"What? I'd-"

"Be delighted to pay for Porthos and myself, we know Aramis. After all, you're such a great friend who likes to share, aren't you?"

It was clear that Aramis wanted to give them another mouthful on what he thought about them but Porthos kept the conversation casual by being his usual loud and overpowering self as they led the unfortunate priest to their favourite barn.

* * *

><p>It had taken a week for Aramis to go back to normal during which he had managed to anger Porthos a few more times resulting in fistfights, admitted far too many things to Athos that would require months of blackmail research to counter and angered D'Artagnan by admitting that he thought Constance could do so much better unless he grew out of his occasional childishness. On the other hand he had admitted that he respected Planchet, that his faith wasn't as unshakable as it may seem, that he indeed enjoyed writing poems and not just driving them away with bad poetry to get peace and that he couldn't wait to go back to normal to continue his pursues of the fairer sex. After all, telling the women the truth would get him castrated so he didn't dare attempt anything.<p> 


	8. Aramis, Cross Part 1

_A/N I know, I promised a crack story next and then a dark tale... apparently I lied. I did start writing the crack story if it's any consolation but because lately there had been a couple of really funny tales posted by LadyWallace and Southern-bell85 (which you should read if you haven_'_t already!), and because I managed to get stuck with mine, I thought I'd go for something different first. I hope you'll forgive me. And yes, this will have at least another part._

_Also, this is still movie verse but I have Rochefort in here. Let's just say that D'Artagnan injured him but he didn't kill him ok? I love his character far too much to accept his death :P_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Sometimes, the four musketeers wondered if they'd ever get a break from the constant missions that they got. Recently, the only downtime they could hope for was when one or more of them were so gravely injured that it was physically impossible to go on another assignment. Even so, the ones who were healthy were usually sent somewhere anyway. It wasn't that they minded, after all they had a strong sense of duty and rarely was a mission a fad. Usually, it was something or other that was needed to battle intrigues on the court or to support them, based on which side you stood on. Whenever they got to do something against Richelieu's plans was always a plus and what with him courting Constance, D'Artagnan was always willing to do just about anything for the Queen.<p>

This time was no different as they only returned from a successful mission yesterday and already had been assigned a new one by Anne. They accepted of course, even though all of them were thinking that a short break would be nice. Even the Queen acknowledged that it was too soon but the mission was of the upmost importance and couldn't wait a day. She didn't give them specific reasons why but they didn't need to ask to know that it was an important matter concerning her and France, especially once she mentioned Richelieu.

They would ride out early the next morning as there wasn't much time before the Cardinal caught up on it and acted. The Queen gave them a message and a box that they were to deliver to a small village in Gascony; the place was chosen specifically so that the musketeers could claim that they were going on a holiday to visit D'Artagnan's family to raise as little suspicion as possible. Describing them who they were to give those items to in detail, the Queen didn't give any names and they didn't ask. All they got was the description and a code that should be said with a specific answer from the person to confirm it was the right one. Each one of them memorized it in case something happened on their way and only one of them made it.

D'Artagnan was actually quite happy with this new assignment as he would get to meet his parents to keep their cover. Porthos shared his enthusiasm as their youngest often spoke of his parents hoping to one day bring them to Paris to meet the three musketeers. Athos looked at the boy almost fondly but didn't react one way or another, simply accepting the mission and getting things prepared as soon as possible. Aramis felt happy for his young friend but he was in a slightly sour mood. During their last mission, he had managed to lose his beloved cross in a fight and he had hoped to purchase another one upon their return to Paris. Unfortunately, Constance was already waiting for them when they got back and immediately told them about meeting the Queen in secret as had been arranged. Once they got their instructions, there was only enough time to gather the things they would need for the journey and take good care of the horses so they would be rested for the ride tomorrow.

There was no time left to go buy a new cross and Aramis was sad to admit just how naked he felt without it. He missed the familiar weight on his neck. But the Queen came before his own desires and grudgingly he acknowledged that the purchase would have to wait for their return. Porthos tried to cheer him up by making fun of it but all he managed to do was to make his friend feel even more miserable so he stopped. The next day, they got onto their horses giving Planchet last instructions on keeping their house in working order and went on their way. Even Athos had to admit that seeing Aramis without the ever present cross dangling neatly from his neck was odd.

They rode at a languid pace, as much as there was hurry with the mission, it would be far too suspicious for them to make haste on their vacation. Sacrificing speed for believability, the quartet rode next to each other, chatting amiably to spend the time. D'Artagnan had a big smile on his youthful face and an extra spark in his eyes that somehow made him look even younger than he was as he recalled several tales from his childhood. Athos listened carefully though his features remained impassive, Porthos laughed outright at some of the mischief that their young Gascon had managed to get into before they knew him and even Aramis felt some of the sadness lift from him because D'Artagnan's happiness was infectious.

Deciding to stop for the night when it began getting dark, they purchased two rooms in an inn and split up with Athos sharing one with D'Artagnan and Porthos sharing the other with Aramis. The food was good and the wine was even better and they saw nothing wrong with indulging themselves a little. They were so content that they didn't even end up in a fight which was fairly unusual for them. Aramis was the first to bid the others goodnight as he wanted to pray before going to sleep. Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan stayed a little longer, D'Artagnan because he was too excited to fall asleep just yet, Athos because the wine was really great and Porthos because he knew that Aramis was still sad about the missing cross and would prefer to be alone at least for a few minutes. Soon though, they decided to follow his lead and split up to go to their rooms as they didn't want to get too drunk to ride out early in the morning once more. When Porthos entered the room, Aramis was already in his bed and seemed to be asleep, his eyes were closed and his chest was gently rising and falling. His right hand was clutched, resting on his chest where his cross usually lay and in that moment, Porthos decided to buy him a spare one in case he lost his cross again since his friend missed it so much. Getting ready for bed himself, Porthos lay down and blew the candles that illuminated the room.

So far, the journey was going well and though they didn't let it lull them into a false sense of security, they went to sleep without feeling the paranoia that sometimes accompanied them on these types of missions.

* * *

><p>They felt freshened-up in the morning and paying the innkeeper generously, they left early keeping the pace from the day before. The weather was pleasantly warm, the sun shone and there were barely any clouds in the sky making the trip enjoyable. D'Artagnan picked up the childhood tales once more and even Athos was participating this time, asking the boy about things he was interested in. They could almost forget that they were on a secret mission and simply ride to D'Artagnan's home village. But of course, things never went so easily.<p>

They had covered quite a long distance by the time Athos started feeling uneasy. Being attuned to his moods, the others noticed right away and knowing that his senses rarely deceived him, went on guard immediately. Without giving their worry away, they looked around themselves trying to catch whatever it was that alarmed Athos. They couldn't find anything but since they were paying much more attention now, they felt like they were being followed. As much as they didn't want to, they continued on their way and for the next hour couldn't shake the eyes that were upon them. Soon afterwards though, the feeling went away which put them even more on edge; something would happen and soon. Before they got to stop at another inn because it was slowly getting dark to make a new plan, they had been ambushed.

As one, several shots were fired at them from the forest and it was only by sheer luck that they hadn't been hit. However, their horses panicked and most of them found themselves thrown onto the ground, catching the breath that had been knocked out of their lungs while getting to their feet with weapons at ready. All of a sudden, they were surrounded by at least 30 men who split them up immediately and attacked before they could fully recover from the shock.

D'Artagnan had fallen with his right shoulder onto a larger rock making it temporarily useless which meant that he would have to fight with his left arm. Cursing himself for ignoring Aramis' offer to learn to be truly ambidextrous, he fought his attackers as best he could though he realized he would need help. Porthos wasn't faring much better as his horse not only threw him but fell on his left leg as well crushing his ankle beneath. His only chance was to keep on swinging his sword to keep the attackers at bay as he couldn't make even one step without agony shooting through him.

Athos was doing alright, slowly fighting his way to D'Artagnan as he disposed of his opponents but he was stopped short when he saw that D'Artagnan had been overpowered and currently held by the leader of the ambush with a knife to the boy's neck. Looking at the face of the leader, Athos cursed when he recognized Rochefort. The bastard was smirking at him as he drew a drop of blood from D'Artagnan's neck, daring Athos to keep on fighting. Stopping at once, Athos was quickly pushed onto the ground, his sword kicked away and his hands tied behind his back. Rochefort threw D'Artagnan at his men and within moments, the youth was bound next to Athos without a chance to escape. Porthos was losing energy quick and hesitating for just a moment, had his sword forced out of his hands. From there, it was only a moment before he joined his two friends, panting heavily as he landed on his injured foot.

Aramis was the last one standing, fighting ferociously since he knew that his friends had been defeated and it was up to him. There was quite an impressive number of men on the ground by his feet as he fought his way to his comrades. However, none of them were paying attention to Rochefort. The bastard had looked their horses over locating the box on Athos' saddle and smirking in triumph, didn't see much point to continue the fight any longer. He had three prisoners as it was, one of them injured, and that would be enough. Taking out his musket, he aimed carefully.

"Goodbye priest."

A shot rang through the air, Aramis yelled out and fell face down onto the ground. His three friends screamed in horror and renewed their struggling but the men held them down. Rochefort walked up to the fallen musketeer dispassionately and looked at him. He was' t moving but it could have been a trick, he had made that mistake before. The ground was wet with blood though it was impossible to say whose. Kicking Aramis in his side none too gently, he waited for a response. He got none. Turning around, he smiled at the horrified musketeers.

"Looks like the priest went to meet his maker."

Giving a sign, the three were hit over their heads before they could do anything, making them unconscious. His men tied them onto their own horses and rode out, taking Aramis' horse with them as he wouldn't need it anymore. Rochefort couldn't wait to intercept the messenger in Gascony and return to the Cardinal with good news. However, first he would need to find out from the remaining musketeers how to find him which is why he kept three of them alive. They would suffice. With that, he ordered his men to ride to their makeshift camp which they would reach sometime around dawn.


	9. Aramis, Cross Part 2

_A/N Well, this is going to be a fairly big spoiler I think but I'll admit it anyway... this story is largely inspired by something that happened in the 1993 Disney movie. For those of you who know it, it should be easy enough to figure out what :P_

_Also, I couldn't think of a good name for Aramis' horse so he ended up being Zeus (the other god that Luke Evans played). By this rate Aramis is going to end up with the whole Pantheon for his pets but ah well, it's been a long day for me so yeah. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Rochefort was riding his horse in the front of the odd group currently passing through the forest. The night had fallen already and the only sources of light were the moon and the stars; Rochefort prohibited his men to use any torches to light up the way. It slowed them down considerably but they were suspicious enough as it was and while he didn't think anybody would see them, he had to take precautions. The three musketeers were still unconscious, every one of them bound to his horse as they hung sideways across them. Rochefort had gags put into their mouths so that they couldn't attempt to call for help once they woke up; plus, he simply enjoyed looking at them so helpless within his grasp. After all, they had caused him much trouble and grief and almost his life back on top of Notre Dame. Once the Cardinal found out he had failed him again, he almost wished he could have died; angering Richelieu was never a good thing. He couldn't wait to get his revenge and this was the perfect opportunity.<p>

Aramis' death had been far too quick for his liking but the effect it would have on the others was worth it. He couldn't wait to remind them that they left their friend there in the open where any wolf or other hungry beast could find him and provide a fitting end to the former priest. His soldiers weren't too happy about the fact that he left their killed comrades in there as well and he knew that they almost revolted against him. However, taking out his muskets and aiming them at the loudest of mutineers, he made it very clear that any one of them were disposable, especially those who were of no use to him. No one doubted he would pull the trigger and merely marched on grumbling.

Rochefort hoped that the rest of the journey would be uneventful and for the most part it was. The only other thing that caused some uproar happened when they were about third way into the march. Aramis' horse panicked for some reason and began struggling against the men that were holding him. Stopping to calm the horse down, one of the soldiers got kicked in the head and fell to the ground bleeding, most probably dead. The others quickly let go of the wild beast unwilling to suffer the same fate. Finally free, the horse spun around and ran away quickly, disappearing between the trees before Rochefort could take aim with one of his muskets. Shrugging his shoulders, he ordered to continue, if the horse wanted to die with its master so be it.

* * *

><p>Back on the road where our four heroes were originally ambushed, everything was quiet and still. The dead lay where they had fallen, scavengers had not yet found this potential feast so they remained untouched. The ground was still wet from all the blood that seeped into it and would retain a red hue come morning. The only sound that could be heard was the faint noise of 4 hooves occasionally punctuated by a low blow coming from a horse. Looking around, Zeus found the man he was searching for and stopped before him. He stomped the ground a few times with his right front leg but his master didn't even stir. Changing tactics, he lowered his head and began nudging the man gently.<p>

All of a sudden, Aramis gasped loudly and sat up with his eyes wide open. His chest was heaving as he tried to piece together what happened. The mission, his friends... they had been ambushed. He was fighting, the last musketeer standing, and then he felt sharp pain in his chest before everything went black. Unbuttoning his clothes, he pulled out the old iron cross hanging from his neck. It glinted in the moonlight showing clearly that there was a bullet imbedded in the middle. That's right, Rochefort tried to shoot him. Looking up at the heavens, Aramis closed his eyes and sent a silent thank you prayer to his Lord for keeping him safe.

The cross was an old one, Aramis had had it since his early childhood, and while serving its purpose, there was nothing pretty about it. Being the vain creature that Aramis was, he didn't want to appear before anybody with the old thing out in the open instead of his usually more decorative and representative cross and chose to wear it under his clothes instead. At first he didn't want to wear it at all but he still felt uncomfortable without the familiar weight and decided to put it on after all when he was dressing back at the inn. Apparently it saved his life since the bullet never even reached his skin, let alone his heart which it was obviously aimed at. He felt the bruise which had already formed from the impact but that was trivial.

Looking around himself, he started to put together what must have happened once he lost consciousness. Clearly, Rochefort needed at least some of them as there wasn't any trace of his friends among the dead. Good, that meant that they would hopefully still be alive, if a bit worse for wear. Coming to that conclusion, the question of where to go looking for them came forth. Obviously, Rochefort had been prepared for them, he and his men would hardly just happen upon them this far out of Paris. No, the Cardinal must have found out about the message and whatever was in the box and sent his lackey out to get them. But he couldn't have found it out right away and although the musketeers didn't go all that quickly, Rochefort and his men must have been stationed nearby.

Getting up by using his horse to keep his stability, his legs were a bit wobbly, Aramis realized one more thing. Clearly, he had been out of it for a while and only now did Zeus try to wake him up. Caressing his long neck lovingly, Aramis looked at him.

"You weren't here all the time were you."

The horse didn't answer of course but it didn't need to. Surely, Rochefort would have taken it, meaning that Zeus ran away from the group at some point. Sweeping the surroundings one more time, Aramis gathered as many muskets and bullets as he could carry. He even found the dropped swords of his friends and loaded his horse with the weapons. Swinging himself up into the saddle, Aramis knew that he couldn't track them in the dark but that time was of essence if he wanted to save his fellow musketeers. He couldn't afford to get lost but he had complete trust in Zeus.

"Lead me to them."

With that, he let the horse go whichever way it decided; hopefully it would be light by the time they reached the point where Zeus escaped so that he could track them the rest of the way. Aramis prayed that he wasn't too late already.

* * *

><p>Back in the camp, Rochefort was barking out orders. The midnight trek had been slower than he anticipated and it took them almost until noon to arrive. He was tired and wanted to get everything done quickly so he could catch a few hours of sleep. The camp was exactly that; since he travelled with what could practically be considered a small army, he couldn't exactly go to an inn. Instead they found a clearing surrounded by the woods that offered enough space that they could sleep in without being in sight of potential passersby. Richelieu wanted the situation handled as discreetly as possible.<p>

Leaving Aramis and several of his men dead in the middle of the road wouldn't have seemed discreet to most but Rochefort knew what he was doing. The men didn't wear anything that would reveal their connection to the Cardinal and whoever found the bodies would simply think that the musketeer got attacked by some bandits. Sad, but nothing that required further investigation.

The camp had also been Rochefort's idea. It was warm enough outside this time of the year, even at night, so they could simply raise several tents which they could pack back up any time and move to a new place. They were nothing fancy, the main construction and the cloth were easy to carry. Some of the men considered complaining about the lack of comfort since they were only sleeping on the ground but one look of Rochefort's eye was enough to remind them that they were soldiers and not some crybaby ladies needing a four-poster bed.

The tents were placed in a circular pattern, those were for the men to sleep in groups of 5, with two tents in the middle. One was Rochefort's, the three captives were currently being led inside the other. The tent was devoid of anything besides the 4 large poles stuck in the ground to which they bound the struggling musketeers. They had woken up sometime during the night but didn't manage to escape as Rochefort was paying extra attention to them ever since they stirred. They didn't know where they were since by the time they could see the path, they had travelled for a few hours already.

The pole furthest to the right was left empty and it was a sad remainder of Aramis who they believed had died. Athos had been tied closest to it with D'Artagnan next to him and Porthos the furthest left. Before tying them down, they searched the musketeers for any hidden weapons, making them take off their coats and even their boots before forcing them down on their knees. They retied their hands behind the poles; they even tied their ankles together behind them, a treatment Porthos loudly boycotted since it put far too much strain on his broken one. Going even further, Rochefort ordered their necks be tied to the poles as well, preferably tightly though so that they could breathe but not loosely enough that they could move.

Once the captives were secure, Rochefort chose 3 men to guard the only entrance and sent the rest away. He remained behind and looked the men over with his trademark stone face.

"I hope you like your new accommodation."

His only answer was a glare coming from every musketeer and he was almost disappointed by the lack of death threats thrown his way.

"I think I'll tell you exactly what we're going to do so that you have something to think about before we start. After all, we have plenty of time as the only one who could come rescue you is laying in a pool of his own blood."

"You bastard! I'm going to get you for this!"

Ah, that was it. Rochefort enjoyed watching Porthos struggle against his bonds after he mentioned Aramis. It was clear that the larger man was in pain because of the movement, as much as because of his words. He smiled at Porthos and let him struggle as much as he wanted. He wouldn't get away and it was entertaining.

"I am sure you will. However, the fact is that Aramis is dead. It is within your hands to make sure none of you join him."

They didn't like where this was going in the least. The pain of having lost one friend was far too much already, they weren't sure they could go through it again so soon.

"My men and I are tired, we're going to sleep the night off for a bit. Once we're up and about, we shall start with the interrogation. Unless you want to tell me everything now and spare us all the trouble."

"Never."

Rochefort didn't expect anything less.

"Good, the alternative will be much more enjoyable anyway. Think we will start with you boy, we have some unresolved business."

Rochefort walked up to D'Artagnan and grabbed his chin roughly. The Gascon glared at him bravely but both Athos and Porthos felt a shiver run through them. Rochefort knew far too well that the boy was their greatest weakness.

"However, I think we will make it more fun for all."

Rochefort left D'Artagnan so he could fully enjoy the terror on all of their faces once he revealed his cards.

"I'll take him but it will be you two who will be interrogated. We'll tie him to one of the trees outside and use him for target practise. Every time you don't answer my question, we'll throw a knife at him. I wonder, how many times will you let him scream before you break?"

Even Athos began struggling at this. Torturing any one of them while expecting the tortured to answer questions was one thing; they could deal with that as all of them would take pain before betraying the Queen. However, hurting one of them when the others didn't answer was something else entirely. It didn't help that Rochefort said it in a tone that clearly stated he hoped they wouldn't answer right away.

"Ah, do not worry. I'm sure he can take at least 8 of them before he bleeds out. After all, we won't be aiming for vital organs at first. But if he dies before you speak, there's always two more of you giving us a chance to repeat the process. Think about it and enjoy the last hours you spend together unless you decide to act wisely for once and give up before any more of the famous _inseparables_ die."

Rochefort left to the sweet sound of insults, letting the musketeers stew in this new knowledge. Mental terror was his greatest weapon right now, especially as they felt the loss of one of them already. He doubted they could stand losing another one, sentimental fools.


	10. Aramis, Cross Part 3

_A/N And the third and final part is here. It needed plenty of editing, and could probably use some more, but my eyes are hurting and I'm being attacked by a plot bunny for the next story so yeah, this is the best you're gonna get right now :P_

_Much thanks to lilgenious for her help! _

_Also, I planned to make the next two stories with somebody else losing something and not Aramis again but it's probably not gonna work out that way... if it's any consolation, Aramis won't be physically present too much in one story although it is his possession that gets lost._

_Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

><p>For a few hours now, Aramis was riding Zeus confident that his horse would take him along the path Rochefort chose. Every now and again, there would be signs that the large group passed where they were going visible by the moon; the branches on some trees would be broken or the ground would have that characteristic ridden-on look and feel to it, even though it was fairly deep in the forest. By the time the sun started rising, they reached the spot where Zeus undoubtedly broke free. There was a man lying on the ground with a small puddle of blood underneath him. Stopping Zeus and jumping down, Aramis drew his sword before he turned the unfortunate soldier over with his right foot. Despite the head injury looking bad, he groaned making it clear that he hadn't yet died from the blow. Smirking, Aramis realized that he could maybe get a few answers from him that would help him rescue his friends.<p>

Once Aramis woke him up missing his usual gentleness, the man blabbered a bit due to disorientation caused by the head injury. However, once he regained the hold on his bearings, he went 2 shades paler when he saw the musketeer. Not only was the man he thought dead standing over him with his sword drawn, he had murder in his eyes and that damn horse that had nearly killed him standing behind him. Worried for his life when Aramis described in gruesome detail what he would do to him unless he answers his every question, a fate worse than even Rochefort would prepare for him if he found out he helped their enemy, the man begged for his life promising to reveal all.

First, Aramis interrogated him about how they travelled and how they found the musketeers. The man, Aramis didn't even bother to ask for his name, explained that the Cardinal found out about the mission the very evening before the quartet rode out; Rochefort put his men together right away so the musketeers only had a few hours' head start. At night a plan was devised between Richelieu and his lapdog taking several possibilities into account.

Rochefort was to attack them further away from Paris, preferably somewhere where nobody would see, meaning that they had to use a different road than the one the musketeers took. They also needed to take into account the fact that they didn't know just how fast the inseparables would ride. Because of the size of the party, Rochefort and his men couldn't stay at an inn to avoid raising suspicion and would camp outside instead. One of Rochefort's soldiers knew of a good clearing that would serve their plan well that was about 30 miles from Blois; they reached it after a hard day's and partly night's ride. Because their horses were exhausted, they built up the camp and let them rest while they waited for news on the musketeers.

As they were departing from Paris, Rochefort sent out 2 of his men to go looking for the musketeers and find out about their progress. Had the musketeers ridden fast, one would find Rochefort's camp and let him know that they would need to move again while the other continued observing. However, they found the four friends sooner than anticipated so one of them hurried to report on their slower pace while the other followed them to the inn which was a little less than 25 miles from Paris. Hearing about their speed, or lack thereof, Rochefort knew he had plenty of time to prepare an ambush. He decided they would attack the musketeers some 20 miles from their camp, they would have enough time to get to the main road while the musketeers would reach it close to the evening next day should they keep their pace. They arrived there just an hour before the musketeers since back in their camp, they had to prepare the tent to hold them prisoners first. Aramis realized that the eyes they felt on them must have been from Rochefort's spy; he probably anticipated the ambush and rode out at some point to warn the bastard that they were coming.

He then questioned the poor man about specific directions on how to reach their camp and the number of men under Rochefort's command. With the losses suffered by the musketeers before they overpowered them, Rochefort currently had 23 men at his disposal. They would also be tired from all of the travelling as they rode much faster than the musketeers and didn't have the advantage of resting in a comfortable bed, instead having to raise the camp. They also rode all night without their horses getting enough rest from the day before making them progress slower. Zeus travelled far but for a large part of the journey had no rider and barely had to gallop at any point meaning he would be able to gather more speed now that it was light again. Aramis made a mental note to take extra good care of him if they found the camp soon enough and escaped with their friends.

With the proper directions and using the fact that a single rider could advance much quicker than almost 30 men, Aramis could gain some of the time he lost back and hopefully arrive while the soldiers still slept. A plan began forming in his head as he rode on with renewed hope. The soldier had served him well by informing him so he didn't kill him. However, he didn't help him in any way either, letting him find his way to shelter alone.

* * *

><p>Back in the camp, the musketeers mulled over their options. Athos and Porthos refused to let D'Artagnan suffer the fate so colourfully described by Rochefort and tried to think up a plan of escape. They had no one to rely on to get them out of this mess but themselves and they needed to act quickly. Taking the lead, Athos inquired about their current condition. Porthos admitted that his ankle was broken and that he wouldn't be of much use when moving. D'Artagnan reassured him that his shoulder was ok and that he could do anything Athos asked of him. Athos himself was uninjured.<p>

Next he asked them if they had any weapons on them that they could use to get free. Unfortunately Rochefort had been thorough and didn't leave them with anything. All of them had been testing the ropes ever since they got tied down but they wouldn't give; not even Porthos could break free despite his strength, the way he was tied down didn't give him enough leverage to do anything. Grabbing onto the poles, they tried to pull them out of the ground but they had been buried deep and didn't move an inch. And hour had passed before they admitted that they were trapped.

Their horses were of no use as they had no way of making them trample the guards and rip the poles out of the ground. Bribing the guards wouldn't work either and threats had little force coming from tied up prisoners who had nothing but torture and death to look forward to. Porthos attempted to anger them enough so that they would come closer, close enough to somehow nick something sharp from them but they didn't take the bait and at most laughed at what was to happen to D'Artagnan in a bit without stepping near any of the bound men. Not even a stone was within their radius of reach which they could use. The next option was to plan for D'Artagnan to break free when they untied him from the post to take him outside but it had far too many flaws to work out, most probably endangering the boy much more than giving him a chance to succeed.

Slowly, they began realizing just how hopeless their situation was. D'Artagnan did his best to remain brave and reassure his friends that everything would be alright though deep down he had to admit that he was scared of becoming a live target. Porthos refused to let the tears he felt in his eyes flow as he remembered the loss of Aramis and thought about the potential loss of the young Gascon as well. Athos cursed God for abandoning them, promising anything he had or could ever get in exchange for saving them somehow. He didn't stop thinking up insane escape plans, even though each one was more implausible than the last because it was the only thing he could do. He couldn't bear losing the boy that was like his son in everything but blood.

Each one was so lost in despair, they barely spoke in fear of hearing their voices break and admit defeat.

* * *

><p>Aramis reached the vicinity of the camp 3 hours past noon. Zeus had given his all and Aramis caressed him gently, thanking him for his service. He took all of the weapons from him, loading the muskets, which he kept two of for himself, and putting the rest next to the swords on the ground; he would come back for them later on. The camp was silent making it clear that most of the men went to catch a few hours of sleep. Aramis only saw 3 guards standing in front of one of the tents in the middle, he supposed that that was the tent reserved for prisoners. Good. This meant that he could take out several of the men without the guards noticing a thing before he rescued his friends.<p>

Using all of his experience from sneaking in and out of houses for his various romantic endeavours, he managed to get into most of the tents unnoticed. Those that held more than 2 men he left right away, there was no way he could kill them all without waking up at least someone and blowing his cover. However, he managed to kill 7 men by slitting their throats as they slept. He almost felt remorseful about the way he did it but they had ambushed them, tried to kill him, captured his friends and planned to do God knows what to them. While he would have preferred to fight the soldiers in a fair match, the situation forced his hand.

Using the fact that the guards all stood in front of the entrance to the tent and were practically dozing off, he silently moved the swords and extra muskets from the forest to the back of the tent before he cut his way inside. He saw 3 pairs of hands and feet bound to the poles and felt relief wash over him. If they were still tied up like that, they had to be alive. They must have heard him enter as Athos demanded to know who he was. Though realizing that it was someone sneaking from behind who could against all odds be possible help, Athos said it in a lowered voice. Knowing that time was of essence since he had taken far too long as it was, Aramis didn't answer and merely began cutting the ropes with his bloodied dagger.

He kept the hood of his cloak on to at least somewhat cover his face, he had a feeling that the moment they realized it was him they wouldn't be able to remain quiet. He started with Athos and worked his way down the line. By the time he cut Porthos loose, Athos couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the hood pulling it back. The change in them was instantaneous. Their eyes lit up in wonder and unspeakable relief with a hint of disbelieve. Porthos gasped loudly though Aramis shushed them before they could yell anything out. Pulling his hand away from Porthos' and D'Artagnan's mouths once he was sure they wouldn't do anything to reveal their escape, he smiled at his friends. Understanding his warning, they kept their voices quite low but it was impossible to expect them to remain silent, especially Porthos.

"Aramis, you're alive!"

He didn't get a chance to reply as they hugged him tightly between themselves, cutting off his air for a moment. He let them indulge for a little; he had to admit that it felt good to see how much they cared as his possible loss effected them so. Soon though the need for oxygen overpowered the need for confirmation and closeness and he pushed them away gently but firmly.

"But how?"

"We thought the bastard had killed you!"

"Are you hurt?"

They threw questions at him over each other and he had to raise his hand to rein them in. Deciding that a demonstration would be much more effective than any words he could say, he unbuttoned his clothes, he took out the old cross and presented it to them.

"No, I'm not dead, I'm not even hurt. And don't you three ever dare make fun of my faith again."

They saw the bullet caught in the cross and silently swore never to doubt Aramis' beliefs from then on. Athos didn't miss the rather nasty looking bruise on Aramis' chest but seeing as it wasn't a life threatening wound he decided not to comment on it, for now. Porthos was looking as puzzled as before and asked the question that was bothering him.

"But I thought you had lost your cross?"

"I, well, er you see... I had this old one and although it isn't fancy, I felt bare without it so I put it on under my clothes until I'd get the chance to buy a new one that I could wear on top of them."

He blushed a bit as they stared at him, snorting at his vanity.

"Aramis? Don't you ever change."

Wanting to stop the conversation before they could make any more fun of him, he quickly walked out and gave each one of them his sword and a musket as he returned. The odds were much more in their favour now as Rochefort only had 16 men left and none of them expected the musketeers to attack them. Smiling, the four quickly nodded at each other and charged. The three guards before their tent felt almost immediately, stabbed from behind. The ruckus woke the others up and the first 4 that stepped out of their tents were promptly shot. After that, the musketeers split up to take care of the rest.

Porthos stood his ground waiting for any soldiers stupid enough to attack him while Athos and D'Artagnan ran towards the remaining few. Aramis ran to Rochefort's tent with a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, stopping at the entrance ready to attack the man that would undoubtedly walk out with a musket or two. He was right as Rochefort went to check what was going on with a musket at the ready. Aramis threw himself at the bastard, knocking the musket out of his hand as they fell to the ground. Rochefort was quick to untangle himself from the man he thought he had killed and drew his own sword and dagger. His one eye stared at the priest in shock.

"I killed you."

"You missed."

"I won't miss again."

"I won't give you a second chance."

With that, they began circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike. Both were ambidextrous so Rochefort didn't have the advantage by using both a sword and dagger unlike with D'Artagnan. Aramis also wasn't beyond playing dirty with him unlike the Gascon had been. Both of them were equally tired but Aramis had the other musketeers on his side who were slowly finishing up with Rochefort's men.

No, Rochefort couldn't drag this duel out too long because each passing minute got him closer to defeat; he had to risk and charge right away. Slashing at Aramis wildly, he almost scored a hit; however Aramis was prepared for such an attack and parried it easily, swinging at Rochefort right away. There was no time to pose, no time to taunt the opponent to show how much better you were. There was no place for style, only furious attacks that they threw at each other, never once stopping for a second.

The other musketeers had finished their own fights and were currently watching the battle between Rochefort and Aramis with bated breaths. They could try and shoot Rochefort, none of them would feel guilty about such a dirty victory, but the two men were moving around too much and they couldn't risk hitting Aramis by accident. It was clear that the captain and the priest were fairly equally matched as neither could get the upper hand. For Aramis cutting Rochefort's face, Rochefort cut his left arm. For Rochefort managing to cut Aramis' abdomen, Aramis stabbed him through his leg. Rochefort's punch to Aramis' face was met with Aramis' punch to his gut. Back and forth they traded blows, attacking wildly and spilling blood. It was clear that both men were tiring, although they refused to slow down.

In the end, it was Aramis' remarkable sense of balance that saved him. During their fight they had moved considerably and were now standing on steeper ground. Both of them had managed to slip but while Rochefort lost his balance completely and fell, Aramis managed to regain it before he followed his opponent and using the opportunity, stabbed him through his chest. Rochefort groaned in pain and while Aramis didn't kill him, he had injured him greatly thus winning the fight. Pulling his sword out of Rochefort's chest, Aramis kicked him in the head hard, knocking him out.

He was panting heavily as he turned to his friends but he smiled at them seeing their relief. Walking away from the unconscious man, he finally felt the pain of all the injuries he had sustained and wavered. None of the cuts were too deep but he felt the blood running down his body and couldn't wait to wash it away, grab a meal and sleep for 2 days without pause.

* * *

><p>Despite their injuries, the musketeers got onto their horses, Aramis took a different one and simply led Zeus after him as the poor beast had been ridden too much already. Going as fast as the horses allowed, they arrived at Blois that night. In the end, they hadn't killed Rochefort but they left him in the camp; he would survive somehow or bleed out, none of them cared. Either way, he would be too late and too injured to interfere with their mission anymore. Getting a doctor to look over their own injuries, Porthos had been pronounced unfit to continue on their journey meaning he would have to stay in Blois for a while. Although he wasn't too badly hurt, Aramis decided to stay with him to both rest and keep him company so only Athos and D'Artagnan would continue to Gascony the next day. If all went well, they would join Aramis and Porthos on their way back and all four would return to Paris together. Undoubtedly, they would know every willing lady in Blois by then.<p>

Once more, they had gotten 2 rooms at an inn with D'Artagnan and Athos sharing one while Porthos and Aramis shared the other. Aramis was barely standing on his feet by that point and couldn't wait to just collapse onto his bed. However, for the next 20 minutes he found himself unable to fall asleep. It wasn't that his body or mind couldn't rest, the reason for his wakefulness was the burning pair of eyes watching him carefully. He couldn't take it anymore and turning around, glared at Porthos in the dark.

"What?"

Aramis could swear that he saw the giant blush although the darkness hid it well.

"I just, um..."

In that moment, Aramis understood. Porthos couldn't get the memory of him being shot out of his head and needed to look at him to remind himself that it wasn't true, that he hadn't lost his best friend. Sighing, Aramis got up and moved his bed to Porthos' until they were joined. The giant looked at him with surprise, not understanding what he was doing. Once they were next to each other, Aramis lay back down facing Porthos.

"If I wake up to you fondling me in your sleep again I _will_ kill you."

Smiling in relief, Porthos chuckled.

"Oh come on, it was only once!"

They bantered for a bit longer until Aramis was yawning more than he was talking and Porthos decided it wasn't fair to keep him up any longer.

"Sleep my friend."

"Goodnight Porthos."

"Goodnight Aramis."

Before he even finished talking, Aramis' eyes had closed and his breathing evened out. Porthos knew that he wouldn't wake up for hours so he moved closer and gently hugged the smaller man against his broad chest. He needed to feel the warm breath leaving Aramis' lungs as a constant reminder that he was alive. Finally, even Porthos managed to fall asleep.


	11. Aramis, His Book of Poems Rated M

_A/N Yeah, I know I updated last night and am updating again so soon. Don't get used to it :P However, I had the difficult part of this done and it was quite easy to get the rest written. I have no illusions that I'm a perfect poet, as a matter of fact I'm sure some of you will read the poems in your head differently than I would and think they don't work at all. That's fine. Since poem theory confuses me enough in Slovak, I'm not attempting to follow any complicated rules in English. Only one poem has a more formal form – the Rondel one. Even so, I don't pay much mind to the number of syllables per line. Deal with it. :P_

_Also, I changed the Cooper's Yard from the movie into Cooper's Court for rhyming purposes. The name Madame Marguerite was chosen because of her being a character of another Dumas story. I haven't read it personally but she made loads of sense with the context of the poem._

_I'm kinda curious to see what you make of the idea of poems in stories though. __**Oh yeah, because of the language and mature situations (graphic sex) mentioned in some of the poems, this chapter is rated M.**_

_Also, I will do my very best to make at least the next two stories where somebody else loses something! I probably shouldn't promise you anything anymore as it's not going to work out but I'll try. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Finally, a nice summer afternoon when he didn't have to do anything. The kingdom wasn't in any imminent danger, The Queen and her ladies in waiting were busy attending some sort of event for royals meaning that Constance would be busy and the other musketeers weren't home. D'Artagnan could spend the next hour or two grooming his beloved Buttercup until both master and horse were content with her shine. He would probably groom the other horses as well so they wouldn't get too jealous, though none of them would get the special treatment he'd give to Buttercup. While there, he will also feed them and clean up the saddles.<p>

Repeatedly the other musketeers kept telling him that it wasn't necessary he do all that, that it was Planchet's work but D'Artagnan didn't mind. As a matter of fact he enjoyed doing it plenty and truth be told, Planchet didn't do half as good a job as he always did. Plus, there really was nothing else to do. Entering the stable, he noticed that Aramis' horse was missing. It was then that he remembered that the former priest had been sent on a mission to Tours by Treville that required his special ehm, _expertise_. He wouldn't be back for a few days at least and most probably would be a handkerchief or two heavier by the time he did. Shaking his head at his friend, D'Artagnan opened Buttercup's pen and went to work.

He had finished grooming all of the horses that practically preened in their now shiny coats and was putting the gear back into place when he kicked something on the floor and made it slide to the other side of the small stable. Putting the gear away he turned around and went to search for the mysterious item. He presumed it was something that Planchet managed to drop last time Athos' horse almost kicked him. Bending down, he picked up a small book of some sort instead; clearly, it couldn't have been Planchet's.

Inspecting it more closely, D'Artagnan realized it was Aramis' book of poems that he saw him scribbling into on various occasions. Often had they made fun of the priest because of his undoubtedly romantic poetry to which he would blush and excuse himself to continue in peace. They would just laugh even harder and trade a joke or two about the poems even though it wasn't nowhere near as much fun as when Aramis was present to hear them.

D'Artagnan knew that he should just pick the book up, Aramis probably dropped it as he was hurrying to leave to Tours, and return it back to his friend's room. He shouldn't open it and definitely shouldn't read any of it. But he was curious and with each step that he took closer to the house, he felt the book burning in his hand more and more. By the time he opened the front door, he had hidden the book under his shirt so that Planchet wouldn't notice he had it. A small peak couldn't hurt could it? He would just read a poem or two for inspiration so he could try and woo Constance with the sweet words Aramis had undoubtedly come up with. Surely, he would get bored within minutes and safely put the book away to keep until Aramis returned. After all, Porthos could somehow find it and then he wouldn't let his friend live it down.

D'Artagnan decided not to mule over the fact that he locked his door from the inside before he sat down on his bed and opened the book on a random page. His eyes widened slightly as he read the first short poem.

"Planchet you mongrel, stupid impertinent fool,

in front of my mistress you made me look like a tool!

Is it so much to ask for a good servant with tact,

that won't blabber out every single damn fact?"

This wasn't what D'Artagnan expected to find... as a matter of fact he read over the short poem a few times to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Apparently they weren't as the words remained written on the page in Aramis' orderly handwriting. D'Artagnan couldn't help it and burst into giggles, wondering what Planchet had done to embarrass his friend so. Or which mistress he was talking about, it was hard to keep track of all his relationships. Forgetting about the fact that he was intruding on Aramis' privacy, D'Artagnan quickly turned the page and began reading the next poem.

"One or two, maybe three bottles of wine,

how can he drink so when he doesn't dine?

Grumpy like a bear with a thorn in its paw,

tell him all that? He'll punch you in the jaw."

Chuckling, D'Artagnan had a good idea who this particular stanza was about. Athos' name reeked off the page more strongly than it would have even if his name had been explicitly stated. Reading the words again, he couldn't help but remember all the times when he found Athos drinking in the kitchen and Aramis scribbling down in his book while giving the other man occasional looks. Back then D'Artagnan didn't pay much attention to it, after all it wasn't anything special that Aramis looked at his friend, though from now on he would probably give it more consideration. Quirky as the poem might be, he had to admit that Aramis had Athos down spot on. Eager like a child that found a present early, he read on.

"Porthos is snoring – the whole house is shaking,

being deeply asleep I've long since stopped faking,

on nights like these, I really hate his damn guts,

oh how to stop him... a hard kick in the nuts?"

D'Artagnan burst out laughing as he finished reading this one. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who had trouble falling asleep with Porthos snoring louder than a thunderstorm in the next room; there have actually been a few occasions when the large man snored louder than the raging weather outside. Clearly, Aramis wasn't as aloof about the fact as he had tried to look, especially considering the last line. Now those would be some sounds D'Artagnan wouldn't mind waking up to! With a mischievous smirk on his face, he continued reading.

"Rochefort oh Rochefort, you son of a bitch,

what mother could love you but a nasty old witch?

Always playing dirty, you'd shoot us in the back,

can't wait for the day when I break your damn neck."

Now that he didn't expect to find... Aramis, the man who always spoke gently and never used the crass language Porthos seemed to love and even Athos enjoyed at times was secretly cursing like a sailor in his poems. And here, D'Artagnan expected to find overly sweet lovey dovey stuff. Oh how wrong he had been! He had to give it to Aramis though, there was far too much truth in his words, especially considering the fact that Rochefort tried to shoot him not so long ago. Wondering how else his friend could surprise him, D'Artagnan turned the page.

"Buttercup oh Buttercup, you remarkable mare,

will you be the main reason of Athos' grey hair?

Whoever shall win this mean mother hen's race,

when the main subject is none but the Gascon's face?"

Apparently, Aramis even wrote about his darling horse. D'Artagnan stared at the poem in wonder and since the ones he read so far were pretty true, he considered the situation in this one. It was true that Athos was incredibly protective of him, that could not be disputed. Buttercup was as protective of him as he was of her and considering he chased Rochefort through half of France to get him to apologize to her, that said a lot. But he had never realized that those two could fight against each other over him. Making a mental note to pay closer attention, he moved onto the next one, curious to see if he himself made it into one of them since even Buttercup did. He should have been more careful with what he asked for.

"Young and naive is our dear Gascon lad,

never admits how many women he had,

Porthos thinks two, I'd say not even one,

getting him corrupted, that will be fun!"

Redness filled his cheeks though it was difficult to say if of anger or embarrassment. D'Artagnan didn't want to admit that Aramis had been correct in his assumption, there was nothing wrong with saving yourself up for the right person was there? He was getting there with Constance but they both agreed to take it slowly and not rush into a bed. However, it was mean of Aramis to make fun of him for his choices, especially since he seemed to support him whenever asked by the Gascon. He also didn't like the last line and made another mental note not to trust Porthos or Aramis with any advice on women again. Not completely sure if he should continue, he read the next poem with half closed eyes.

"D'Artagnan and Constance, sitting in a tree,

the first time they make love, when shall it be?

D'Artagnan is cocky but deep down he's shy,

the moment she agrees, he will probably die.

Constance is very pretty but she's also strong,

she's not afraid to tell him, when he is wrong,

she plays hard to get but he wooed her just right,

now they are together, kissing lovingly all night."

D'Artagnan let go of the book as if burned and stared at the offending object with as much hate as he held for Rochefort. Writing something like that just wasn't right! He decided to challenge Aramis to a duel for this, screw the fact that he shouldn't reveal he had read something supposed to be personal in the first place. For the next half hour, he paced his room angrily, cursing the fact that he would have to wait to defend his honour and Constance's. However, every so often, his gaze would drop onto the open book and as much as he fought it, it was calling to him. He wanted to read more and see if Aramis dared write something else this outrageous. Sitting back down, he grabbed the book angrily and read on.

"The inseparables, the four musketeers,

my closest friends, I think with tears,

not tears of sadness, nor of despair,

but tears of great joy, to say I dare.

Athos once Comte, the noblest man of all,

to melancholy and wine love made him fall,

rarely cheerful, but protective the most,

to his friendship, I shall proudly toast.

Porthos the strong, proud Baron one day,

who reminds us to live with childish play,

always there when needed, unmovable rock,

despite our differences, a friendship I can't mock.

D'Artagnan who whirled in like a wild storm,

bravery and rashness, his usual daily form,

loyal to a fault, our dear beloved spark,

on all of our hearts he left a big mark.

They call us inseparables, the musketeers,

four men joined in blood, sweat and tears,

four parts of a whole, friends for all our life,

bound by the oath we swore under a knife."

He felt all of the anger seeping out of his body with every new stanza. Clearly, Aramis had taken more care with the subject as the poem was considerably longer than any of the others D'Artagnan read so far. He felt a warm feeling spreading through his chest when he read the part about him, as much as Aramis named some of his faults, it was cleared that he loved him as a dear friend, warts and all. In that moment he pretty much forgave his friend for making fun of him earlier and closed the book with a smile on his face. He gently put it inside a drawer and hid it under his clothes to keep it safe from prying eyes. Tomorrow, he would read more but right now he could hear Porthos returning and he didn't want the giant to find the book. For the rest of the evening, Porthos and Athos wondered what gave D'Artagnan such a great mood as they expected him to be mopey about Constance being busy.

* * *

><p>For the next few days, D'Artagnan read poem after poem in Aramis' book, intruding on his friend's privacy without regret. He had a feeling he could never again take his friend's hobby seriously as he clearly spent so much time writing whimsical and sometimes nonsensical poems about anything and everything that caught his eyes. Knowing that there wasn't much time left before he returned from his mission, D'Artagnan hoped to finish reading them today and return the book to Aramis' room before it was too late. Taking it out of the drawer, he sat on his bed and started reading where he had left off yesterday.<p>

"Why must we deal with that English poncy brat?

I forever shall curse the day in Venice we met,

damn you chance, the worst insult of all others,

gaze at us both, we look almost like brothers!"

Ah yes, there weren't many feelings lost between the musketeers and Buckingham... and everything that was between them was animosity, hate and anger really. Buckingham tried his best to get them killed and they tried their best to ridicule him before the people he wanted to impress. However, considering everything that had happened to the three after that famous failed mission, D'Artagnan couldn't help but snort at the fact that the one thing angering Aramis the most was the fact that he and the Duke looked alike. Losing their jobs, Athos getting his heart broken, losing their cause, none of that matter as much as him and Buckingham being interchangeable under a certain angle. Once he stopped shaking his head, he read on.

"Beautiful and deadly, the one we used to like,

sadly between Buckingham and Richelieu you hike,

usually so bright but that day you weren't smart,

one day we will kill you because you broke his heart."

Apparently, D'Artagnan had been too rash when he presumed Aramis didn't care about what happened to Athos. He didn't mention the fact that Milady had drugged them, stole the loot and sold it to Buckingham and Richelieu, he did care however how much it affected their friend. D'Artagnan didn't know much about what happened to the three after the mission as none of them liked talking about it, even less so about Athos and his loss. He would have to corner Aramis or Porthos at some point and get answers as he wanted to help Athos find reason to trust again one day to repay for everything the man had done for him. Looking out of the window, D'Artagnan noticed it was starting to get dark and read on quickly.

"Fighting the guards is a musketeer's measure,

during the evening we go looking for pleasure,

those beautiful ladies make me hard as a rock,

I really can't wait to use my long and thick c-"

He did not finish reading that poem, he did not want to finish reading that poem... why oh why was Aramis writing _that_? Willing his mind not to finish that rhyme to avoid mental scarring, he looked at the next one with only one eye in case it wasn't safe either.

"I'm a ladies' man, as my friends would say,

I see nothing wrong with the romantic play,

Athos hates them, though I must disagree,

treat them right and they'll be nice to thee.

They're not harpies, more like angels from above,

what else do they deserve but lots of my love?

For tenderness and devotion all women were made,

with a few chosen ones, my handkerchiefs I'll trade."

Sighing in relief, D'Artagnan was happy to note that it wasn't as bad as the last one. He chuckled as he finished reading, of course Aramis would love women and want to share that love with as many of them as possible. However he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the line with handkerchiefs. It had been a running joke between the musketeers on how protective Aramis was of his collection and while they had a fairly good idea of what they meant, it was odd reading about it like that in the poem. D'Artagnan couldn't help but wonder just how many handkerchiefs his friend had stashed in his wardrobe and burst out laughing as he imagined heaps upon heaps falling out when somebody opened the piece of furniture.

"40 Cardinal's guards in Cooper's court,

40 Cardinal's guards in Cooper's court,

if one should suffer the musketeers' morte,

there'll be 39 Cardinal's guards in Cooper's court."

D'Artagnan was quite sure that the words reminded him of a drunken song he heard some of the other musketeers sing at times. Clearly, Aramis must have been intoxicated himself as he wrote this since his handwriting lost some of its neatness in those four lines. Snorting, D'Artagnan remembered that day of the fight when he had met the musketeers for the first time and challenged them all to a duel, fighting the guards instead and winning their friendship. Even now he still couldn't believe how quickly it all went down and changed his life forever. He couldn't imagine living without the presence of the trio anymore and didn't even want to think about it. As if he knew of D'Artagnan's feelings, Aramis had written another longer poem on the next side, the one of few that actually had some sort of form. D'Artagnan thought it might be what Aramis had once called a Rondel or something of that sort.

"All for one and one for all,

the inseparables as one man stand,

protecting France, their lovely land,

they answer Treville's every call.

Helping each other, they never fall,

always fighting with Cardinal's band,

all for one and one for all,

the inseparables as one man stand.

Regular visits to the Royal Hall,

they wait for Louis' new command,

four little grains in history's sand,

with friendship, love and lots of gall,

All for one and one for all."

Smiling, D'Artagnan refused to think about the burning he felt in his eyes as he finished reading. The motive of their friendship was common among Aramis' poems but he had to agree that the former priest managed to outdo himself with this one. It was simple and yet so true, even using their favourite catchphrase. So lost was he because of the sweet words, he hadn't noticed the steps going up the stairs and to his room as he started reading the last poem.

"How to reach paradise, the place so divine,

some men say prayers, some men drink wine,

I must be blessed, for I found Eden on earth,

Madame Marguerite's house, a visits' worth.

There is Maddie, her butt supple and round,

when I was last there, my fingers had found,

the best way to forget, to make troubles hide,

as I pushed two of my fingers deep inside.

There is Benoite, her nipples so pink,

sucking them gently, it made me think,

there's not much better in North or South,

than a nice and firm nipple in your mouth.

Then there is Lula, who I love even more,

who buried my penis deep into her core,

her pussy was soft, warm and so wet,

all through the night our pelvises met.

There is Lucille, who sucked like a dream,

Deni's kisses lasted forever, it would seem,

Neva's petite hands that jerked my hard cock,

to the rhythm of sex, they all made me rock.

All of those ladies had worked as a team,

to make this musketeer come hard and scream,

the luckiest man, who Eden had found,

these talented ladies all night for a pound."

Staring at the words with his mouth wide open, and a tingling down below that he would _not_ admit, D'Artagnan heard his door opening. Somehow in his eagerness, he had forgotten to lock it as usual and had a deer caught in the headlight's look on his face when he saw Aramis standing behind the threshold. His friend noticed what he was holding right away, there was no point to try and hide the book. As one, both of the men flushed a deep red; Aramis entered the room quickly and closed the door behind him. Awkward silence reigned for a little as neither of them knew how to breach the subject.

"I um... you seem to have lost this when you were leaving?"

"Yes, I did wonder where I had dropped it. I see it was picked up by able hands."

D'Artagnan couldn't quite meet Aramis' accusing stare as it was blatantly obvious he read the poems shamelessly. On the other hand, Aramis noticed which particular poem the boy had been reading when he entered and quickly looked away, his cheeks flaming even brighter. After another 5 minutes of silence, he just strode to the bed and grabbed the book. When he reached the door, he turned to D'Artagnan and not looking into his eyes mumbled.

"I won't tell anyone you read what you shouldn't have thus intruding on my privacy if you don't tell anyone what exactly I sometimes write."

Clearing his dry throat, D'Artagnan nodded eagerly, happy to forget the whole incident.

"Deal."

Without a goodbye, Aramis practically ran out of the room and D'Artagnan could clearly hear the lock on his door clicking into place. If only he had remembered to do that.

* * *

><p>Angry at the boy for reading what wasn't his but much angrier at himself for losing the damn book in the first place, Aramis collapsed onto his bed face down and refused to resurface until the blush that seemed to be tattooed onto his face left. What a mortifying experience! He wasn't sure he would ever be able to look D'Artagnan in his eyes again.<p>

Getting up, he was about to put the book away when a paper fell out of it from the page where he wrote about the friendship between the musketeers. Four lines written in D'Artagnan's not so perfect handwriting caught his eye and he read them quickly.

"Let's not forget Aramis, our former priest,

upon beautiful women he likes to feast,

calm and collected, silent smart support,

he is the glue holding our friendship's fort."

He couldn't help it and smiled, trust D'Artagnan to notice he hadn't written about himself and try to rectify it. The writing wasn't bad either, maybe one day he could make something out of the boy. Unless Athos decided he shouldn't cloud the boy's mind with all that nonsense of course. Eh, they could just do it behind his back anyway; it would give them more things to share besides fighting.


	12. All Four Musketeers, Personal Space

_A/N Well, remember how in the Third part of the Cross story I mentioned that Porthos once groped Aramis in his sleep? Several of you wanted to see how that went down. Then I was chatting about it with __**Lady Wallace**__ and came up with the idea of the guys losing personal space. Immediately, she came up with a concept for a story using a small tent. So yeah, in the end I have 10 short stories (the tent one included) and it's all her fault! You blame her for this :P_

_Also, one of these is very much inspired by an __**Esprit de Corps**__ chapter by __**Southern-bell85,**__ namely chapter 34._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>His backside hurt. Actually, his whole body hurt but his backside was the one screaming the loudest. Riding all day usually took its toll on the former priest as he hadn't been a musketeer for too long just yet. The prospect of lying down and sleeping seemed really inviting right about now. That is, until they found out that they could only purchase a 2-bed room again. Aramis cursed the fact that there were three of them and that no inn in all of France seemed to believe that number existed; either they had 2 beds or they had 4. They weren't wealthy enough to be able to pay for an extra unused bed just for comfort so they always took 2.<p>

Unfortunately for Aramis who was the smallest of the three both in height and weight, it meant that he was always the one to share a bed. Usually he shared with Porthos because Athos was quick enough to usurp the other but every now and again, Porthos took one bed for himself. The other two never shared because their size simply didn't allow it.

In a way, Aramis was glad that he wouldn't sleep with Athos tonight because the other musketeer had drunk quite a lot of wine, as usual. Aramis remembered a few times when Athos was snoring gently into his face, puffing out concentrated alcohol fumes with every breath. Aramis got drunk just by breathing and could barely ride his horse come morning. One time, he actually woke up with a pounding headache akin to a hangover even though he hadn't drunk a drop of wine the night before. On the other hand, bunking with Porthos had its disadvantages too. But he was too tired to care either way and passed out pretty much the moment his head hit the pillow.

Sometime later, he felt the bed dip and opening his eyes saw one of the wenches that had served them dinner earlier came to visit during the night. She was young and pretty and seemed very eager to please him. He moaned and closed his eyes as he felt her petite hands travelling his body; she was oddly strong considering how fragile she looked. Nestling into the bedding he put his hand over hers once it reached the spot he craved it at the most. Weird, he could have sworn that her hand felt hairy. She leaned in closer and nibbled on his ear, softly blowing air onto it making him shiver. She whispered something into his ear and all of a sudden, Aramis' brain froze. That wasn't a girly voice at all... actually, it sounded more like-

Opening his eyes in shock, Aramis found himself underneath Porthos who was currently touching him in places he never wanted to be touched by another man _ever_ and licking his left ear. His eyes were closed, he was probably having a pretty nice dream of his own, when Aramis pushed him away with all of his force, making the giant fall on his ass next to the bed. Blinking in surprise, he looked at the priest who was blushing furiously and covering himself up with the sheet while he glared at him accusingly.

"You, you _groped _me!"

Porthos just stared as his brain tried to catch up to what was happening.

"You actually _licked_ me!"

Aramis sounded as nauseous as Porthos felt all of a sudden. Rubbing his tongue as if he'd been poisoned, he felt his erection shrinking; so much for the lovely dream with the mysterious lady he had. Back on the other bed, Athos looked at the pair dispassionately, laughing inside without showing anything on his face. Watching both of them dreaming of having sex with women while they were actually groping each other had been priceless. Filing the mental pictures away for future blackmail, he watched as Porthos barely dodged the objects being flung his way. Aramis was impressively accurate with the candles...

* * *

><p>One of the first things that D'Artagnan had learned as a musketeer was how to drink properly. His new position required he continue building the reputation all musketeers had and within days, Porthos had started his schooling. It wasn't that D'Artagnan had never drunk wine, far from it, but he had long ways to go to reach at least Aramis' level, let alone Athos'. His friends seemed to take rather large pleasure in watching him try though, especially when he reached the point of being drunk enough to lose control over himself and start doing stupid stuff.<p>

Whenever drunk, Athos would only get more melancholy and quiet, Aramis' and Porthos' libido skyrocketed to epic proportions while D'Artagnan either wanted to fight or to sing, sometimes both at the same time that led to quite interesting odes on beating up Cardinal's guards. With each new gulp of alcohol, he was rhyming more and more effortlessly and had Aramis been able to write, he would have scribbled D'Artagnan's masterpieces down.

However, he was quickly becoming a professional since the musketeers always drank. Even when they didn't have enough money for a decent meal, they drank. When Louis hadn't rewarded them for a while and they had to survive without pay, they drank. When it was Monday, they drank. They drank until they couldn't stand anymore, occasionally even passing out in the tavern. Not that that was unusual for any soldiers of that time, musketeer or guard. There was one big difference though.

The Cardinal's guards drank almost as much as the musketeers, only when they passed out, they passed out alone. Falling to the ground or with their face smashed into the table, they never took much care of their drunk friends.

The musketeers on the other hand tended to pass out all over each other. Well, technically Athos didn't pass out but the other three were often found tangled in a heap where it was difficult to say where one ended and the other began. Most often Porthos was the base of the heap so as not to crush his friends with his greater weight while Aramis and D'Artagnan either leaned onto his sides or passed out on top of him. Athos knew he was drunk enough when they reminded him of a litter of cuddly puppies as he looked at the mass of limbs.

Shaking himself before he felt the need to scratch any of their bellies, he filled his cup once more and kept on drinking.

* * *

><p>They weren't sure how it happened. One moment they were fighting some of Buckingham's men during his latest visit in France and the next a loud noise filled the air that sounded like wood splitting before the bridge fell down into the half frozen river with a loud bang. With panic they realized that Aramis had been on it as he fought 3 men right before it collapsed. Finishing their own fights within seconds, they ran down to the riverbank and stared into the water in hopes of finding him. The water was filled with debris that broke through some of the ice making it difficult to spot anybody. A few heart stopping moments later, he resurfaced with one of the English soldiers, gasping for air as they continued their fist fight. A nasty right hook to the soldier's jaw promptly ended it though Aramis felt the current pull him under for a few seconds.<p>

Kicking wildly to reach the surface once more, he reappeared further down the stream and continued struggling. He tried to reach the bank but the ice he crawled onto was thin and broke underneath his weight a few times, tiring him out. Mobilizing his last strength since he finally reached the riverside, he took out the dagger from his belt that somehow didn't get carried away by the water and thrust it into the ground pulling himself out slightly.

When Athos and Porthos reached him, he was hanging from the dagger limply, the upper part of his body resting on the ground while his feet were still in the water. When they turned him around they noticed that he was passed out but thankfully he was breathing, the puff of smoke leaving his nose and mouth sporadically made it clear. However his hair was frozen in places and his whole face had an unnatural blue tinge to it while his lips acquired a purple shade.

Taking him out of the water they were shocked when they felt just how cold he was to the touch. Ignoring the few of Buckingham's lackeys that somehow managed to survive, they quickly ran to their horses and rode off to the inn they were staying at. Athos was holding the unconscious musketeer that he had wrapped into his coat close to his body and started shivering himself before they reached the village as the water seeped into his own clothes. Once they arrived, Porthos quickly carried Aramis upstairs to their bedroom and began pulling his clothes off since they were still damp. Running after them when he got the innkeeper's son to take care of their horses, Athos quickly pushed their 2 beds together and promptly stripped himself. Once he got him out of the wet clothing, Porthos lay Aramis in the middle of the beds and started taking his own clothes off.

Throwing modesty and shyness out of the window, Athos lay down next to Aramis and took the slimmer musketeer into his arms before he pulled a thick blanket over them. Getting two extra blankets that he covered his friends with, Porthos joined them from the other side. Together they cocooned Aramis in as much warmth as they could generate, rubbing his hands and torso to get the circulation going again. Aramis had remained unconscious through it all but slowly colour began returning to his face making the other two relax. They didn't move away though, sharing their body heat underneath the blankets for a while longer.

Aramis was surrounded by darkness but it was different from the one that engulfed him when the water pulled him down. Back then the cold felt like hundreds of knives stabbing his body at once while now he felt pleasant warmth all around him. Snuggling closer to one of the sources he felt on his side, he let himself float in the nice feeling, too tired to wake up yet. Athos couldn't help the gentle smile that graced his lips as he felt Aramis snuggling closer to his chest and shared a relieved look with Porthos. It looked like their friend would recover from his fall just fine.

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan hated the guys, he hated Treville, he hated himself for looking the way he did, he hated all women and he especially hated the stupid damn dress that had been sealed shut on him for that blasted mission. He was uncomfortable, he would probably never get the blush off of his face that had been present all evening and he would never get to live it down. Why was it them that always got asked to solve the mysterious killings among the nobles? Better yet, why did they have to dress up as a couple to mingle with them and act as bait? It wasn't funny anymore, no matter how much Porthos laughed.<p>

At least Aramis had to suffer himself though nowhere near as much as D'Artagnan, or nowhere near as embarrassingly as D'Artagnan anyway. Whereas he had to wear a tight corset and the heaviest skirt he had ever heard off, Aramis had been forced to slip into the tightest menswear any of the musketeers had seen, and they had seen lots of skin-tight articles of clothing. It was surprising that Porthos actually managed to button it up on him. Originally, Athos was supposed to play the husband but the clothes they had been given were so damn tight that Aramis was the only one with a chance of fitting them. He could probably breathe even less than D'Artagnan giving the boy the only pleasure he had all evening by watching the priest struggle to even sit down without tearing something. It didn't help him that D'Artagnan had trouble keeping his balance in his delicate shoes thus leaning into Aramis heavily with every single step.

It was a small miracle that D'Artagnan hadn't broken a leg while dancing or that the vein that was getting steadily more pronounced on Aramis' forehead didn't pop. However, the torture paid off as a few hours later, they did manage to catch the culprit. The poor man didn't know what hit him as the musketeers took all of their frustration out on him, beating him into a bloody pulp with their fists. D'Artagnan threatened to push his fan where the sun don't shine but Porthos who had joined them midway through the beating stopped him laughing hysterically like a hyena.

When they were taking him away, the man practically begged to be put into prison since it would keep him safe from the cross-dressing maniacs. As for the musketeers, with some of their frustration vented, they went back to Treville's house where they could change into their normal clothes and report on the mission. There was only one single problem, the stupid costumes didn't get the memo that the party was over.

Expecting his musketeers to be ready for him, Treville entered the room and gasped in shock at what he saw. D'Artagnan was bent double over the bed with Athos standing right behind him; both of their faces were flushed as they undulated in a rather suspicious way. Aramis and Porthos were even worse off with the priest lying on the bed on his back and Porthos hovering above him, struggling with the pants that were halfway down Aramis' buttocks already. His jaw hitting the floor, Treville promptly shut the door behind him and went to wash his eyes out with soap praying that it would get rid of the images. He knew that the four were close but this was far beyond his wildest expectations.

Back in the room, the musketeers didn't even notice as they continued struggling with the clothes that simply wouldn't come off the poor men.

* * *

><p>It would be safe to say that Buckingham was the biggest pain in their butts that they ever had to suffer. He seemed hell-bent to make their lives as difficult as possible and took great pleasure in capturing and torturing them every chance he got. This time around it had been D'Artagnan and Porthos that fell into his trap and waited for their friends to come rescue them heroically, preferably before something got pulled off that wouldn't grow back.<p>

Unlike the last time when Buckingham decided to separate them into several cells, this time around they had to share the smallest cell in all of England's prisons. The damn thing wasn't even high enough that Porthos could stand, heck even D'Artagnan had to bend his head when he was on his feet. It wasn't long enough to allow them to lie down and stretch their legs, nor was it wade enough to keep much space between them. It was more of a cage than a cell really but neither of them cared much about the correct terminology as it had the very same function as a cell. Though the size was actually good for one thing.

It wasn't their turn yet, Buckingham was currently busy with torturing some other poor soul that had gotten on his bad side but the sounds could be heard clearly throughout the prison. Whatever they were doing to the poor man had to be pure agony as he screamed his lungs out. After one scream that was even shriller that the rest, Porthos noticed that D'Artagnan was shaking slightly and took the boy into his arms. It was so easy to forget just how young he was with the way he normally acted. The other three were weathered soldiers and while none of them enjoyed pain, they were used to the odd torturing session by now. D'Artagnan however had never been faced with it and as brave as he wanted to appear, he was scared and vulnerable.

He didn't even fight Porthos to keep his masquerade, he merely leaned into the offered support and allowed himself to believe that he was safe, even though he knew it wasn't true. Porthos didn't say anything, he wasn't all that good with words but his size was usually comforting enough. After a few minutes, he felt that the lad stopped shaking but he didn't let go. He glared at the guards menacingly when they walked by and laughed mockingly, making fun of the boy who clearly wasn't a man but a scared child. Porthos vowed to hold them for D'Artagnan once they got free so that he could show them just how scared he was to fight.

At least Buckingham didn't visit to come make fun of them and Porthos was glad. Hopefully, Aramis and Athos would arrive any minute now. Until then though, he would hold the boy and promise that everything would be ok praying that he wouldn't come out a liar.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, nothing went according to plan and all the elements seemed to have formed a pact to make their lives hell. Treville had sent them on a secret mission that prohibited them to stay in nice warm and comfortable inns and instead equipped them with a small tent that could barely hold 2 grown men, let alone 4. Most nights they worked around the problem by one or two of them guarding their camp while the others slept, rotating the duty every 2 hours. Unfortunately, that particular night God had decided to punish the Earth with another flood as torrential rain poured from the heavens forcing all of them to cram into the small space. There was no point standing guard anyway as nobody would be out in that particular weather.<p>

Because of their smaller size, Aramis and D'Artagnan had ended up in the middle with unsurprising formation of Athos on D'Artagnan's side and Porthos on Aramis'. That in itself wouldn't be so bad, they could even get over the fact that they were lying almost on top of each other because of the space restrictions. What was a problem was the fact that Porthos had thought it a good idea to eat beans earlier and was currently waging chemical war on the other three. Athos was the furthest away from the blast and even he had trouble not throwing up at the ungodly smell that permeated the tent. The fact that all of them had ridden all day and were forced to take their boots off in the tent helped none, it only made the atmosphere deadlier.

The third time Porthos farted, Athos wondered if he didn't actually manage to shit in his pants because it sure sounded and smelled like it. Aramis couldn't take it anymore and went on a tangent, yelling at the giant. It didn't have much of an effect as his rant was interrupted by another fart that made his eyes burn so much they watered. Even Athos had joined in and yelled at Porthos to hold it in or go die of cold in the rain if he didn't stop. Looking offended since he didn't think it was his fault, Porthos commented on the fact that D'Artagnan wasn't complaining like the two hags and was sleeping peacefully.

Looking at the boy critically, Aramis poked him once and turned to Porthos yelling even louder that D'Artagnan wasn't sleeping but had in fact passed out due to the deadly gasses he was forced to inhale. Enraged that Porthos had somehow managed to hurt the boy, Athos attempted to kick him. Unfortunately he couldn't see well through the poisonous green fog inside the tent and if Aramis' yelp of pain was any indication, managed to miss.

They struggled for a little longer with Porthos managing to let 2 more farts go before they finally reached a state that was close to sleep but probably closer to coma for Athos and Aramis. It was afternoon by the time Athos managed to wake up, clearly the gases had more effect on them than Porthos wanted to admit. He wondered why he didn't feel a body close to his and turned to his other side to find out the reason for D'Artagnan missing.

He hadn't left as Athos presumed, the other three were actually still unconscious, but instead did what children sometimes do when sleeping with their parents. The one they care about more they don't disturb in the least but the other they attack viciously with their hands and feet that strike out at irregular intervals as they toss and turn. So, Athos had quite the show of Aramis getting hugged tightly by Porthos from behind who was probably imagining he's holding a woman again while D'Artagnan kicked him occasionally. It looked rather painful and Aramis groaned every time but he was trapped between the two and had no chance of escaping the punch that caught him in his head. Athos winced and wondered how many bruises the poor guy would have once he woke up.

Making a mental note never to get trapped between Porthos and D'Artagnan, Athos decided to finally leave the tent as it wasn't raining anymore so he could catch some much needed fresh air. His body would probably suffer from shock once it got to breathe actual oxygen again.

* * *

><p>They were three grown up men, the menace at Louis' disposal and the reason for Richelieu's greying hair. Yet every then and now, one of them needed support that couldn't be supplied by simple drinking or a night out. They had just returned from Venice where their lives fell apart because of one single failed mission, because of a single woman that they had trusted who sold them to the highest bidder. Tomorrow, they would have to deal with the aftermath of failing Louis and basically causing an international incident but tonight, Athos just had his heart broken into a thousand pieces and was their number one priority.<p>

It was difficult for him to love or to trust and that vile creature that wrapped him around her finger without a care destroyed something incredibly precious. He had still been in shock when they woke up once the drugs wore off, not saying a word and staring into nothingness. Aramis and Porthos were scared when he didn't even move of his own accord by the time they got back to Paris. He followed them blindly, allowing himself to be led away, to be sat down, to be undressed all the while those dark dead eyes remained unseeing. He was empty, completely hollow as all of his reasons to live were yanked from him in a snap. He didn't even notice that they had arrived home or that his friends put him into his bed, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All he wanted to do was to just close his eyes and forget... forget her, forget his love, forget the betrayal, forget Buckingham's triumphal face, forget everything.

Gently pushing the hair out of Athos' eyes, Aramis sighed and cursed the woman once more. She would never understand just how much damage her actions caused, probably wouldn't even care. Taking his own boots off, he sat down on the bed, resting his back against the wall and took Athos into his arms. It wasn't the most comfortable position as the bigger and heavier man rested his head on his shoulder but his discomfort didn't matter. All that mattered was Athos. Caressing his back and hair gently, Aramis whispered reassuring words and held his friend tighter when he felt the sobs starting.

Athos didn't cry, not a single tear ran down his face but he sobbed and shook, cursing the world in his mind as Aramis held him.

Watching the anguish of his usually stoic friend, Porthos sat down on the other side and gently squeezed Athos's shoulder in support. There was nothing they could do for his broken heart but be there for him, hold him as he fell and put the pieces back together as closely as they could. They would stand by his side, even though he would probably close off or push them away. They wouldn't leave but continue offering their silent support for as long as he needed and way beyond.

When Planchet entered the room hours later, he found Athos asleep in Aramis' arms while the other two musketeers looked at him with grim faces. Something had happened, something had changed his masters forever. Tomorrow he would find out what but for tonight, he was an intruder on the intimate moment between best of friends that held onto each other in desperation. Silently, he shut the door behind him and prayed for his masters.

* * *

><p>It was the first winter after D'Artagnan had trudged into their lives and France was currently battling the biggest snowstorm of the last few decades. Everything had been covered by the think white fluffy blanket and nobody who didn't absolutely have to be outside dared to even open the door. No wine, mistress, gold accessory or duel would be important enough to get the musketeers to leave their house.<p>

Unofficially, they had already been re-accepted as the King's elite soldiers but the paperwork around it was taking much longer and for now, they didn't get the pay or the prestige of the position. They were forced to stay in their rundown house that got even more crammed with the addition of D'Artagnan, though Planchet no longer had to sleep on the balcony since they changed the rooms and their functions a bit, gaining an extra bedroom.

A few hours past midnight, the roof started creaking even more than usual under the heavy weight of the snow and all of a sudden, fell apart under the pressure. Jumping from his bed at the noise, Athos ran out of his room that was downstairs and together with Planchet fought his way up through the snow that was currently falling down the stairs. Athos ran to what was left of D'Artagnan's room while Planchet ran towards Aramis' since he could clearly see Porthos leaving his own room looking drenched but mostly unharmed. They searched among the debris frantically, looking for the musketeers that had been trapped underneath.

In the end, nobody was too gravely injured although there had been several bruises and a few cuts from where parts of the roof fell on them. D'Artagnan was bleeding from a few places while Aramis had been trapped under one of the beams which thankfully stopped just short of squashing him. None of them broke anything which was actually a small miracle.

However, they were now facing the problem of not having a good place to stay. It was too late to go to an inn but too early to remain awake so they were forced to camp in Athos's small room to keep warm as the usually cool house got several degrees colder without a roof. Because their clothes were trapped in the mess upstairs but they had been drenched in the snow, Athos had to lend them some of his own for the time being. Porthos barely managed to put them on, Aramis snuggled into the slightly bigger clothes while D'Artagnan was positively drowning in them looking a bit like a kid that put his father's clothes on to play adult.

They got as many dry blankets together as they could find and huddled down on the floor in a tangle to keep as warm as possible. D'Artagnan who was the smallest and least accustomed to cold out of them all shook like a leaf and Athos had to wrap his arms around him to stop his teeth from chattering so much that the boy would bite his tongue off. Aramis and Porthos helped each other to rub their freezing hands all the while they had Planchet cook something, anything warm that they could eat to chase the chill away.

In the morning they would have to go looking for some new accommodation. None of them were particularly sure how they would pay for it, but for now they stayed as close to each other as humanly possible. They would pull through this.

* * *

><p>Aramis wondered what he had done to Treville as the captain seemed to have a vendetta against him. He certainly used every opportunity he had to get the former priest into compromising situations during their missions. This time around they were forced to pretend to be a married couple travelling in a carriage instead of the actual nobles as there had been rumours about them getting attacked on their way. Athos and D'Artagnan would protect the real couple while 5 other musketeers would guard the carriage with Aramis and Porthos. The mission was so secret that not even the musketeers knew that they were transporting their comrades, it helped that they were all new and didn't know the duo just yet.<p>

Aramis was glad that at least he didn't have to wear a dress this time, he still remembered how much trouble D'Artagnan had with it. He was forced to shave his face and his arms though and to put on a wig in case somebody caught a glimpse of him in the window. The clothes could be explained in the worst case scenario but the moustache would give him right away. Treville had accompanied them to the carriage long before the musketeers and their driver arrived and gave them last minute instructions, not forgetting to comment on Aramis' new blond locks that framed his face rather well. Aramis glared at him but didn't dare reply, simply kicking Porthos in the shin when he heard him chuckle. Treville left the carriage with mirth and sent the band on their way hoping that everything would go smoothly. Surprisingly, for the most part it did. Nobody actually ambushed them though more and more often, the musketeers tried to strike up a conversation.

Porthos had done his best to remind them to mind their own business and claimed that he and his wife were busy but as time moved on, the musketeers began getting suspicious. The fact that they couldn't see inside the carriage didn't help none. Aramis tried to placate them by putting his well groomed hand out of the window holding a perfumed handkerchief, his eyes bulged though when he felt somebody taking the hand into his own and a kiss being graced over his knuckles. He went a rather impressive shade of red and quickly drew his hand back in, dropping the handkerchief in the process.

However, while it was proof enough that there was a lady inside the carriage, the musketeer who had kissed the smooth hand and caught the handkerchief took it as a sign of interest and wouldn't stop pestering them, hoping to glance upon the beauty undoubtedly hidden inside. Porthos tried to counter all of his advances but the musketeer ordered the group to stop and rest and it was painfully clear that he would try to enter their mode of transportation. Porthos reprimanded him once more, threatening to have his head if he tried to intrude on their privacy but the boy wouldn't be swayed.

They could hear him getting closer to the door once they stopped and not wanting to blow their cover, Porthos acted in the spur of the moment. He practically threw Aramis onto the plush bottom of the carriage and lay on top of him just as the musketeer opened the door. He looked at them in horror, the position left little to imagination and all he could see under the big man was Aramis in the blond wig blushing prettily. He quickly slammed the door shut and stuttered out an apology, begging for forgiveness. Porthos had to bite his lip not to start laughing while Aramis felt his face flaming and kicked his friend in the groin, hard.

The blush didn't leave his face for the next hour since they could hear the man describe the scandalous sight he had gotten to his friends, not leaving out the fact that the lady had been really beautiful and that it was a shame she was married already. He felt like dying when his friends told him to try and get to know her better when her husband wouldn't be at home.

* * *

><p>Treville almost felt bad for the poor boy that was standing by his side and tried to hide his uneasiness. He was the son of a rather important noble who wanted him to become a musketeer and basically forced Treville to accept him into his fold. He wasn't a bad kid, far from it but he was hardly the elite soldier Treville preferred to have in his service. However, he could be trained, of that he was sure. His father made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wanted his boy to train with the best of the best that Treville had to offer. Clearly, he had no idea just how corrupted the poor lad would be after staying with the Inseparables for Treville replied without hesitation that they were his best men.<p>

He had hoped to meet with the quartet before the boy arrived to warn them and demand they behave while he stayed with them but unfortunately the father practically threw him into Treville's arms and left. Shrugging like a man that realises he can't stop the impending doom, he braced himself for the worst and personally escorted the boy. His name was Jacques and he was even younger than D'Artagnan. His boyish features revealed all of his inexperience and insecurity and while that attracted plenty of ladies, it wasn't all that great for a soldier. Well, he would either improve significantly or drown once he was thrown into the river of the musketeers, that much was clear.

Jacques was looking at the shabby house with even more unease, it was clear that he was used to much fancier accommodation, but he didn't say anything and followed his captain as he knocked on the door. The loud noise from within could be heard even outside and Treville felt a mild headache forming already. Planchet opened the door and greeted the two men as if nothing was out of the ordinary though he didn't want to let them enter at first. Treville however wouldn't be turned away and simply pushed the poor servant aside.

Jacques wasn't quite sure what to make of the scene before him. Porthos was holding Aramis in a headlock though the priest was using any trick he could think of to get the upper hand, kicking Porthos hard and making him fall onto the ground where he promptly rolled on top and tried to punch him. Treville didn't even ask Planchet what caused the current row and simply shrugged when Jacques turned questioning eyes his way. Before he could ask verbally, a half naked ghost ran past them that vaguely resembled D'Artagnan. Athos was hot on his heels carrying what looked like a bandage and yelling obscenities at the boy that escaped.

D'Artagnan was faster but Athos' legs were longer, allowing him to catch up to the boy that he bodily carried back to the kitchen despite his struggling, all the while ranting at him and explaining the necessity of proper wound treatment. He practically sat on top of D'Artagnan to ensure he wouldn't run away again as he attempted to bandage up his right arm.

Jacques was positively alarmed at what he saw but Treville just gave him a stern look and retorted.

"Welcome to your new home."

With that he turned on his heels and left, entrusting Jacques into Planchet's care and wondering if his father would try to get him killed once his son tells him all he'd seen.


	13. Richelieu & Milady, Façade

_A/N This is a quick story inspired by the Rochefort chapter of __**Dear Fangirls**__ by __**Lady Wallace**__ and our chat about it as well as various interviews with Christoph and Milla. Christoph was always defending Richelieu as someone who only wanted what was best for France while Milla always defended Milady as a modern ambitious woman born in the wrong century. So, I thought I'd get inspired by them and see what comes out of it. _

_The Milady/Athos relationship is taken from the movie and their reactions to one another's actions in it. It's not book verse so do take that into account. I did love how Matthew acted it out though. Also, since there is no first name for Rochefort given by Dumas, I took the liberty of choosing one for him. I was inspired by the first role I saw Mads in, Tristan in the King Arthur movie, where he had a hawk. So, his name means "May hawk" or "White hawk" and is funnily enough the French version of Gawain, another of Arthur's knights._

_Hopefully, you'll enjoy this!_

* * *

><p>He could faintly hear the dong of the old ornate clock resonating through the room although his mind barely registered it anymore. How many hours had it been? It seemed like forever since the musketeers had managed to destroy all of his plans yet again. Sometimes he wondered if they really thought they were doing it in France's best interest or just out of blind loyalty to the King and blind hate towards him. They were fairly effective and quite cunning, Richelieu had to give them that, unfortunately they were unwilling to join his cause.<p>

They didn't see what he was trying to do, didn't understand. Making Louis and Anne fall apart was merely a step in the grand plan to keep France safe, not a personal vendetta or gust of ambition as so many seemed to peg him capable of. No, France was on the verge of war; hearing just how the musketeers acquired their airship, they probably went to war with England already. All he wanted was a strong competent leader for his beloved country, nothing more. Louis didn't fit the bill in any shape or form. He wasn't interested in politics, didn't understand the subtleties of governing and wouldn't really know what to do with himself in a war. Anne was strong and much more versed in everything that their position required but even she wouldn't be enough to turn Louis into a good strong leader within days, let alone hours.

No, all Richelieu wanted to do was move the weak ruler out of the picture and put somebody strong enough to face the upcoming tide in his place. So what if the best candidate for that position was him? He saw nothing wrong with that. Had there been a great substitute, he would have willingly gone for him but there was none. And they had no more time left. No, all the planning would fall upon his shoulders anyway while Louis would systematically destroy any sense of pride and security their people might have. He couldn't even stand up to Buckingham who was below his rank and merely a child with expensive toys himself, how could he face up to a different king? Sighing once again, Richelieu rubbed his eyes tiredly. The future of France was once again clouded, hidden from his sight.

And as if all the political worry wasn't enough there was also the other thing. He had sent Rochefort after the musketeers, scolding him like a stern father for not bringing in good results and where has it gotten them? Rochefort was fighting for his life, stabbed through the chest by the young Gascon the musketeer trio had taken under their wings that almost kicked him off Notre Dame. The doctor hadn't been too optimistic about his recovery either, telling him to be prepared for the worst as the injury had been grave and didn't get attended to in a timely manner.

Standing up, he stretched his legs and decided to go check up on his charge to see if he could assist in any way, be it medical or heaven's forbid, spiritual. The room was quiet when he entered and he found himself looking at Rochefort's chest with bated breath. Several moments later he noticed it rising up slightly and sighed in relief, it wasn't all lost yet. Closing the door behind him quietly so as not to disturb the injured man, he sat in the chair beside him, signalling for the doctor to leave them alone for a while. Bowing in respect, the man quickly checked up on his patient and left, staying close enough to return in a hurry but far enough not to intrude.

Looking at Rochefort's pale face, Richelieu was taken aback by the change in the man. His usually stoic and cold face was relaxed now, the constant hate and disdain for everything living gone from his eyes that were closed. Even despite the lines cause by pain, he looked so much younger than when he was awake. The eye patch he so fancied wearing was resting on the small table by the bed, revealing the scar usually hidden underneath. Contrary to popular belief, Rochefort wasn't completely blind on his left eye. The old injury did affect his vision though and the man simply preferred to wear the eye patch when in company as it hid the scar and made him somehow more intimidating. Richelieu himself preferred him without it but it wasn't within his power to decide such matters.

Either way, the man looked different without it, less like Rochefort and more like somebody else, a younger brother perhaps. There was sweat on his brow and wetting the cloth he found left behind by the doctor, Richelieu gently wiped it away. He would never admit it out loud, couldn't afford to risk revealing such a weakness, but he cared deeply for the young man. He had known him before he became the Rochefort the musketeers and countless others learned to hate, he had known him back when he used to be innocent.

Back when he was Gauvain, a young man full of hopes and dreams ready to face the world that later turned its back on him, forcing him to adopt his less than noble fighting style and hard persona that didn't let anyone in. Before he had been faced with the event that made him forever despise the musketeers and what they stood for, or supposedly stood for. Richelieu had mourned the boy when he met the man a few years later but had to acknowledge his use and loyalty, making him the captain of his guard. Rochefort had served him well over the years even if his methods were questionable at times.

Secretly, Richelieu hoped to maybe resurrect the boy he had once known but he had long ago learned that that wouldn't be possible. Life had left one too many scars on the boy that could not be seen and some damage never healed. No, the best he could do was to remain the stern authoritative figure and hold his reins to stop him from doing something they would all regret. As useful as Rochefort could be, Richelieu couldn't let him run amuck for he would cause more harm than good.

His control slipped occasionally but he did what he could. Tomorrow when, if, Rochefort woke up, he would have to put the stern mask on and reprimand him for his failure. He would have to punish him for his incompetence even though it broke his heart to do so. No, Rochefort could never know how deep his affection for him ran or he would lose his authority.

But for now, Rochefort was deeply asleep and Richelieu could let his mask slip off for a moment, regarding the son he never had with affection as he wiped the sweat off his face.

* * *

><p>The moment she woke up with Buckingham's face hovering above her, she knew she couldn't have died in the fall. It took her a second to look around herself and piece together what must have taken place as well as what was most probably about to happen. The moment she did, her mask of Milady slipped back into place, accepting the new situation with ease as the men helped her stand up on Buckingham's order. They led her to a cabin, most probably Buckingham's, and left her alone inside to change from her soaking wet dress.<p>

All she could find was Buckingham's fancy clothes and glaring at them in disdain, she chose a less elaborate model to put on. Thankfully the man was thin enough so that the clothes weren't too big on her petite frame. She hated the smell of him that clang to the fabric but it was better than the soaked material of her ruined dress for now. Buckingham was sailing to war so he would hardly have the latest female fashion aboard.

Sitting down on a small soft bed, Buckingham was clearly too snobby for a simple cot, she let her mind wander. She was alone for now and could let the events of the last few hours wash over her. The first thing that came to her was the memory of his eyes, especially in the moment when she pulled the trigger. The shock, the utter betrayal in them when he realized that she wouldn't hesitate to kill him, it tore her heart. She might as well have pierced his chest with a bullet then, it would have been less painful. They had been prepared for her of course, having take precautions but the knowledge that she would do it was enough to cause irreparable damage.

And yet, he still loved her. She had sold him to Buckingham, to Richelieu, she had destroyed his fairly comfortable and happy life as a musketeer, she had broken his heart over and over, claiming she loved him only to stab him in the back moments later, she had tried to outright kill him and yet he loved her. He couldn't do the same to her, no matter how much he wanted. She could see it all in his eyes as he aimed his musket at her, he would never be able to pull the trigger. She had no illusions that he would ever forgive her treachery but he wouldn't be the executioner; jury perhaps, but never the one to swing the axe, to tighten the rope. She wished she could explain it to him, explain why she was driven to doing what she had. But no words would ever make him understand.

And so she had jumped, jumped to spare him the guilt of having fallen onto her level and betraying the one he once claimed to love. In a way, she did want to die back then, unable to hear that he hated her, shocked by how deeply that word affected her even though it was hardly a surprise after what she had done. He still held as much power over her as she did over him. Sighing, she wished things could have been different. Alas, their relationship would never have worked. They wanted far too different things to live happily.

For all of her life, she had been told that she would never be as good as a man; her father had wanted a son but had only been cursed with a single daughter that could never make him as happy no matter how hard she tried. She had lived under his abuse for years, growing up as a boy that was taught how to fight. She turned into a beautiful woman but the heart of a fighter couldn't be changed. Society however, couldn't accept her as anything but a pretty thing to hang off of some noble's arm that would one day produce children.

No, she wanted more, she wanted to be able to own a house under her own name, not be the wife of the landlord. She wanted to prove to everyone that she could be as good as any man, better. And for that ambition, she had sacrificed herself, her love. She had sacrificed Athos who loved her the way she was but would want to shackle her one day regardless. At some point, he would have wanted to settle down and raise a family and she couldn't do that, she couldn't give him that. She had to cut it off before it killed them, although she had managed to destroy them both in the process.

Hearing footsteps coming closer, she rearranged her face into the mask of Milady once more. She was the best and she was willing to pay the price for it, whatever the cost. There was no place for regret, no place for remorse. To reach her goal, she had to eliminate the obstacles, had to eliminate Athos. And yet, she couldn't quite keep the small spark of love from her eyes when Buckingham asked her about the musketeers.


	14. Constance, Sleep

_A/N For those of you who had read my "how they met" challenge story called __**Destined to Meet**__, it shouldn't be news that I enjoyed writing the musketeers as little children. We chatted with __**Lady Wallace**__ about it and that there isn't enough fanfic out there with the three being kids while there's plenty with D'Artagnan. Then we tried to imagine how we could rectify the situation and this is the result. My sis helped me loads while thinking this up, the vase was totally her idea, so much thanks to her for making this easier!_

_Side note – I wrote over 50 000 words for this fic by now, I feel like celebrating! :P _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>The Queen and all of her ladies in waiting were enjoying the beautiful Parisian weather and decided to go walk through the gardens to catch some fresh air when for the third time that week despite it being only Wednesday, Constance had gone pale as a sheet and ran away before she managed to throw up before everyone. Anne was getting worried about her confidant by now and ordered her to go see the doctor if the sickness didn't stop by tomorrow. Constance tried unsuccessfully to reassure her that it was probably just something that she had eaten, although it was odd that she only felt sick in the morning but was fine after that. She didn't think too much of it really, surely the problem would solve itself within a few days.<p>

However, later that morning when she was returning from her latest bout of nausea, she heard two of the other ladies in waiting talking about her. They were half joking and half gossiping but what they said almost made Constance turn around and throw up again. Could it really be that she actually _was _pregnant?

For the rest of the day she had been clumsy and absentminded, thinking about the possibilities. By evening even Louis was worried about her and she couldn't wait to bid everyone a goodnight to finally get the peace she needed to think. Locked up in her chamber, she could finally give the situation as much thought as it needed. It was true that only a few months ago, her relationship with D'Artagnan had reached new levels and they became intimate. Blushing furiously at the memory, she knew that she could have gotten pregnant by him as they hadn't been all that careful lately, too caught up in the act to separate in time.

It was also true that she had been due to have her monthly visit almost 2 weeks ago and still nothing was happening. Plus, there was the morning sickness now too. Getting more worked up by the minute, she had to force her breathing to calm down to avoid fainting. What if she really was pregnant with D'Artagnan's child? How would he react? What would they do? Tossing and turning in her bed, she was plagued by visions of worst case scenarios where D'Artagnan left her because he wasn't ready for such a commitment.

* * *

><p>Constance was so damn tired, the boys would one day be the end of her, she just knew it. How could four little 6-years-old boys be so damn much trouble? Sighing, she heard the sound of something smashing coming from their room and got up, bracing herself for the worst. She could have sworn that they had taken away anything that could be destroyed but apparently it wasn't so.<p>

Opening the door, she had just enough time to duck before the small wooden horse her husband had carved for the boys as a toy flew through the space where her head had originally been. The room went silent all of a sudden, Aramis and Porthos looking at her with wide eyes that were unsuccessfully trying to appear innocent.

Taking a quick look around, she took stock of the situation. There was Athos, appearing disinterested in the whole ordeal with a serious and grim expression on his child's face, sitting between the duo from hell and D'Artagnan who was hiding behind his bigger brother. On the other side of the room sat the troublemakers, attempting to hide the rest of their ammunition behind their little backs looking as angelic as any child that knows it had done wrong can.

"What happened here?"

"Nothing mommy, honest."

She looked at Porthos sternly not believing him in the least despite the fact, or maybe because of it, that Aramis agreed with him. The loud snort coming from Athos could be clearly heard making the boys scowl at him. Putting her hands on her hips, she didn't repeat the question but continued glaring. Lowering their eyes under the intense gaze, the two tried to melt into the background.

"I'm asking again, what happened here?"

No answer still so she turned to the other boys. Athos wouldn't tell her anything but there was always sweet little D'Artagnan who couldn't keep anything hidden away. Looking at him, she knew he was just about to succumb; she smiled at him encouragingly until he crumbled.

"Aramis and Porthos were throwing our toys at each other mommy!"

"Traitor!"

With a battle cry the two threw themselves at D'Artagnan but managed to crash into Athos instead as the other boy anticipated the attack. A full on scuffle between the three ensued making Constance come into it and bodily pull the boys off of each other.

"Enough!"

Her angry voice made all three stop immediately and D'Artagnan hide behind Athos even more since Aramis and Porthos continued to at least glare his way. Wiggling her finger at the two, she scolded the unruly boys once more and threatened to take all of their toys away if they didn't behave. Grudgingly the duo apologised and promised not to cause any more trouble. Knowing that she'd be lucky if the promise held for even an hour, she left the room hoping for her husband's speedy return.

Turning their backs to D'Artagnan angrily, Aramis and Porthos refused to play with the little traitor. With moist eyes, D'Artagnan asked Athos timidly if he could play with him instead and seeing his little brother so sad, Athos agreed. For the next half hour, everything was fairly quiet in the room.

Unfortunately, Aramis felt like writing a poem for their mommy to make it up to her and went in search of some paper and ink. He found the ink and a pen alright but couldn't seem to get any paper and because he was a child with short attention span, he shrugged and looked at the wall. Smiling happily, he began scribbling on it, smearing the ink everywhere in the process including himself. The writing was barely eligible and didn't really rhyme all that much, after all he was only 6, but he was still sure that mommy would appreciate the gesture. With smudges all over his face and hands, he left in search of Constance with a big smile. He found her shortly and took her to come look at his masterpiece.

Looking at the ruined wall and then at the dirty child that was beaming at her, Constance felt her blood boiling. For the next few minutes, pitiful cries could be heard all through the house as Aramis begged for forgiveness for whatever he had done. His buttocks red and flaming, he ran back to the boy's room, tears streaming down his face. At first Porthos laughed at him but since Aramis wouldn't stop crying, he hugged him and offered one of his own toy horses to make his brother feel better. Sniffling dramatically, Aramis accepted the offer and soon forgot all about the pain as they played musketeers although he made sure not to sit down on his butt. They even allowed D'Artagnan and Athos to join them as no one was willing to risk Constance's wrath just yet.

Knowing that she would need some time to salvage the wall, Constance looked for something to distract the boys with. She had found some clay that her husband had gotten them and thinking deeply decided it couldn't hurt. Covering the kitchen table with an old rag that they used for such occasions, she called the boys downstairs. Giving each one of them a lump of clay, she told them to model something as they thought of her while she cleaned up the little poet's handiwork.

She turned to Athos and let him know that she was counting on him to keep his brothers in check and that there better be no mess outside the rag when she got back. Nodding his head silently, Athos always took his responsibilities seriously, he watched over the other boys from the corner of his eyes as they all began modelling.

Almost half an hour later, Constance returned to check up on the boys and their progress. Each one of them was feeling rather proud of himself as they presented their creations. D'Artagnan blushed as he showed her the heart he had made and she smiled at the sweet little boy, kissing his cheek in reward. Aramis went next and while he was blushing as well, he presented his own masterpiece.

Constance almost choked when she saw an accurately modelled pair of naked breasts, nipples and all. She raised her eyebrow but refrained from commenting. Porthos went after him and with a bright smile showed her the rather large lump that resembled an ass far too closely for Constance's comfort. Coughing awkwardly, she moved onto Athos. On the table before him, there lay a carefully crafted piece of turd. Smiling triumphally, he looked at her and asked.

"Do you like it?"

"Erm... it's very, er... creative. You made this while thinking of me?"

"Yes mother."

"Thanks, I guess."

She wanted to throttle him but managed to rein her anger in at the last second and put a rather forced smile that didn't reach her eyes upon her face. Telling the four to go wash up and then play in their room before lunch, she smashed all the creations except D'Artagnan's heart together, destroying the evidence before their father returned and asked why his boys knew of such things.

Thankfully nothing happened while they were washing their hands and even during lunch, all four behaved impeccably. Constance was actually getting mildly worried because it's been far too long since their last mischief. Feeling on edge as she looked upon their far too sweetly innocent faces, she sent them back to their room to go play some more.

Back upstairs, the boys decided to play musketeers yet again though this time they wouldn't just fool around with the miniature horses. Instead they took out the little wooden swords their father had given them and began fighting each other. The battle usually started out as everyone against everyone though with time two teams were created with Athos and D'Artagnan fighting off the other two.

Lost in their battle, they moved around a lot, even entering the one room that mommy had banned them from. Not noticing where they had ended in the ruthless war, they attacked and parried viciously, one of them yelping in pain occasionally as he got hit over his fingers. Aramis and Porthos had fallen apart because of a less successful attack and were currently fighting each other as Athos fought D'Artagnan playfully. The troublemakers had abandoned their swords in favour of a more hand on hand combat and were currently rolling across the floor until they smashed into a cabinet. The door opened with the force and revealed an ornate looking vase inside that was wobbling dangerously...

Constance was just about to take a short nap when she heard the commotion from upstairs. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she got onto her feet when something got suddenly smashed to pieces. Gasping in shock, she realized it sounded like fine porcelain and ran upstairs as quickly as her dress allowed. Seeing the open door to the room, her breath caught in her lungs as she crossed the threshold in a hurry.

Looking at the carnage and the abandoned wooden swords laying all over the floor, she shrieked. Her majesty had been given a vase that went against every rule of good taste and asked Constance to keep it hidden in her house so that Louis wouldn't find it. It had been a gift from Buckingham that came with a scandalous letter Anne had burned right away and had a rather detailed painting of the Duke in the nude.

The painting was hardly faithful to the model as Buckingham was most definitely not that muscled and as Constance presumed, so richly endowed, but it was sent with a clear intent nonetheless. She had agreed and taken the vase to her house right away before the King or worse yet, the Cardinal found it in Anne's chambers. Looking at the shards that now littered the floor, Constance knew she would have both good and bad news for Anne come morning.

Realizing that there was no way they could ever put the vase back together, she yelled at the boys to return to the chamber at once. Timidly, the quartet shuffled to their enraged mother looking worried, Aramis was holding his small hands over his butt in memory and D'Artagnan looked like he would burst into tears any moment. They wouldn't meet her eyes and instead looked at their own feet with great interest.

Constance wondered why they gave the boys those swords and better yet, why her husband encouraged them to use them since this was one of the results, especially when they played musketeers. Admittedly, he had told them to only ever take the swords outside but it was to be expected they would succumb and use them inside the house as well.

Ordering the boys to sweep the floor until there were no more shards left on it, she stood over them as they cleaned up the mess they had created. Taking the scoop with all of the shards once they were done, she took them outside and ordered them to dig a small hole in the backyard where they could bury the incriminating evidence. Once all was done, she had the boys who enjoyed digging far too much go wash up once more and change their clothes which had gotten ruined.

By the time everyone was clean and ready, dinner was to be served. The boys didn't cause any more trouble though she could have sworn that Aramis and Porthos kept winking at each other which was usually bad news. Too tired after the whole day to deal with it though, she ordered them to go to their room and prepare for sleep.

As one they marched up, D'Artagnan was actually yawning, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Athos steered him the right way so he wouldn't crash into anything while Aramis whispered something to Porthos making both boys giggle. Checking up on them once they were all in their beds, she kissed each one on their brow and closed the door behind her, hoping to finally get some rest herself.

Waiting for a few more minutes, Aramis and Porthos got up in the dark and rummaged in their toy box for the candles. Lighting 2 of them, they went back to the toy box and emptied it out until they reached the very bottom. In there, they found the bottle of wine that they had nicked earlier. They've seen their father drinking wine and wanting to be like their daddy, planned to get it when Constance wasn't looking.

Since the sounds woke D'Artagnan up and Athos didn't trust them none, the other boys joined them to check what they were up to. D'Artagnan was ready to run to Constance and tell her about the wine but Athos stopped him and for once smiled at his other two brothers. They opened the bottle up clumsily, Porthos spilled a bit of the wine and was about to take the first sip when Athos took the bottle from him and drank instead. Porthos glared at him but Aramis stopped him from doing anything and winked at him, inconspicuously pointing at D'Artagnan. Porthos smirked at his brother and let Athos drink as much as he wanted.

Smiling happily, Athos let the others drink their share once he was done though he made sure to take the bottle away from D'Artagnan after a small gulp. The smaller boy would have protested but even those few drops were enough to make his belly feel all warm and his head spin. He giggled at everything and anything his brothers said and poked Athos a few times when he seemed to have fallen asleep right there on the floor. D'Artagnan didn't feel like going to sleep anymore though and when Aramis asked him if he would like to play with him and Porthos, he agreed immediately.

The game required that they go back outside and holding a hand over D'Artagnan's mouth to stop him from making too much noise, Aramis led them to where they had buried the shards before. Persuading D'Artagnan that it would be a great idea to bury him up to his head next to the shards, Aramis and Porthos went to work. Digging the hole deep enough so that D'Artagnan could be standing in it, they helped him down and began filling it up with dirt. Sometime later, D'Artagnan was stuck in the ground with only his pretty little head above it and all of a sudden didn't like the game anymore as his brothers smiled at him nastily.

"That's for being a traitor earlier."

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out of this on his own, D'Artagnan did the only sensible thing and began crying as loudly as his lungs allowed. Athos was the first to wake up despite the wine he had consumed, the wailing of his brother reaching his ears as clearly as if he was right next to him. Fearful of what he must have gotten into while he wasn't looking over him, especially with what had happened with his other bothers earlier that day, he quickly followed the sound until he found Aramis and Porthos outside, trying to stuff something into D'Artagnan's mouth to shut him up. Enraged, he began chasing the two troublemakers, ready to kill them for what they had done.

Woken up by the commotion, Constance got out and her eyes went wide as she saw the chaos in their backyard. She screamed when she saw her baby boy in the ground and would have run after the duo herself hadn't Athos been hot on their heels already and D'Artagnan crying for her help. Instead she began digging quickly with her hands to get D'Artagnan out all the while reassuring him that all would be fine since mommy was here now.

Waking up with a start, Constance sat upright in her bed panting with sweat covering her whole body. She ran to empty her stomach seconds later and collapsed back onto her bed with the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again that night. The images from her dreams haunted her for hours.

* * *

><p>In the morning, D'Artagnan had returned from a successful mission with the other musketeers though he didn't go right home with them, instead opting to go find Constance and let her know he returned safely. When he got there however, he didn't get the welcome he had expected. Constance threw herself at him and began pounding his chest with her fists, all the while yelling hysterically about them never having sex ever again. Alarmed, he took her away from prying eyes and ears and did his best to talk to her soothingly.<p>

It took him a while to calm her down though he didn't let her go after she went limp in his arms. Rubbing her back gently, he coaxed her to explain what was wrong. She told him all about the morning sickness she had been suffering from while he was away and what she presumed was the reason. At first D'Artagnan went as pale as she was and looked as if he was going to faint but then a broad smile spread over his face. They would deal with it if it was true, after all a child was a gift from God. He even mentioned that his friends would help them out though the mere mention of the other musketeers made Constance cry again.

Once her eyes weren't puffy anymore, they went in search of the doctor. All the while D'Artagnan was reassuring her that he would stand by her no matter what and that he loved her as strongly as before, if not even more now. Taking a deep breath, Constance braced herself and entered the room with D'Artagnan having to stay outside. He was pacing as he waited for news and passing by, Anne smiled at him reassuringly.

In the end, the doctor had proclaimed Constance suffering from a stomach bug and nothing more, explaining to her that she wasn't pregnant and that her being off schedule was merely a result of the illness. D'Artagnan felt a pang of sadness at the news but even he was partly relieved since it was a little too soon for them to have such a great responsibility anyway. Not to mention the scandal of a child conceived before a marriage that nobody would let them live down, especially his parents and the other musketeers. Plus, Constance had relaxed visibly and while she still claimed that they wouldn't have sex again anytime soon, she no longer felt like attacking D'Artagnan upon sight.


	15. Athos, Buttercup & Porthos, Aramis Part1

_A/N Yeah, another crack fic I'd say :P The idea popped into my mind late one night and I thought it would be worth to write it out. It's kind of inspired by the part in the book where Athos loses his and D'Artagnan's horse. I'm still not fully decided yet if this should or shouldn't get a second chapter where we get to see some of what happens to Aramis and Buttercup, do let me know if you'd like it or not!_

_Rémy got his name from my fav X-men character, Marguerite d'Perche is completely made up._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>The streets of Paris were slowly emptying as the sun began its descent beyond the horizon, gradually covering the usually busy city with darkness. Shops were closing down and even the market was long void of any activity as taverns prepared for their most prominent business of the day. Aramis and D'Artagnan had been assigned night patrol so they couldn't join their friends in their pursuit of wine and women as they normally did; instead Porthos and Athos went out on their own.<p>

The tavern was filled with men that came to enjoy the evening with some lovely wench company as they ate and drank their money away. Every table was full of soldiers, musketeers, guards, peasants, thieves, thugs, brawlers and all the other forces of the night that were only just getting ready to start their day. Wine flowed in rivers giving the owner of this fine establishment barely enough time to grab a new cup to fill the next order.

The wenches were busy running between tables to distribute the food and drink; every so often one of the men would be bold enough to grab one and pull her down onto his lap where he proceeded to fondle the girl to varying degrees of success. Some wenches were less shy and knew how to get the patrons to give out more of their money and shamelessly encouraged them to touch to their heart's content, others played hard to get and slapped anyone who dared touch anything but their wrists to catch their attention for a new order.

There was the usual jolly noise of a tavern as the drunks joked and exchanged exaggerated tales of great bravery and lovers' encounters with one another, trying to outdo their companions with their stories. The more and more drunk the storytellers got, the more vivid their tale as they flapped their arms around to demonstrate each point, making it even harder to navigate between them without spilling anything.

A few tables were used for betting on various things from the question of which wench would get carried upstairs for sex first to how many cups of wine someone could drink one after the other before passing out. Yet more tables were used to play dice and various other hazard games to get as much money off of some poor sod as possible. All in all, a typical evening in the fine Parisian establishment called the Hobbling Horse.

In the middle of the hustle and bustle, the two musketeers indulged in their own preferred activities for the night. Porthos was drunk as a skunk as he held two of the more willing wenches against his sides, alternating between kissing each one as passionately as only Porthos could and touching places that could not be seen under the table but were easy to guess by the women's reactions.

Athos had drunk even more wine than his companion although it hardly showed, and was currently engaged in a game of dice with another man that introduced himself as Rémy. He was young, barely the age of D'Artagnan, fairly slim but with friendly eyes and a smile on his youthful face. His simple though tasteful clothes betrayed that he wasn't too rich, making it clear that he hoped to change that situation with the game. Where he came from and what he was doing in Paris Athos did not know, nor did he care. All that mattered to the musketeer was his name and his willingness to play.

The game had been a long one with Athos starting out the winner, managing to triple the money he had began playing with only to lose his luck later and end up even worse than he anticipated. As a last resort to save Louis' most recent reward for beating Cardinal's guards, he bet on the only thing he could persuade the boy to take, Buttercup. In the back of his mind he knew that D'Artagnan would probably kill him for it but he was drunk and he was desperate. Plus, he was sure that lady luck would smile upon him again and make him win this round. He rolled the dice and smiled when he scored a 10.

Porthos had been kissing the young busty wench that had been undulating in his lap when she was suddenly thrown off of him and ordered to bring more wine. She mumbled something under her breath that sounded far too rude for a woman but went away to fill the request, giving Porthos a smile that indicated they would get to continue later. Winking at her, he glared at Athos for disturbing him when he was clearly enjoying himself though Athos only sneered back, clearly in a bad mood.

Upon being asked what crawled up his ass and died, he grudgingly admitted to having lost D'Artagnan's beloved horse in a game of dice despite having thrown a solid 10, making Porthos laugh loudly when he imagined what their little Gascon friend would do to the man he usually loved above all if he found out. Feeling far too brave because he was Porthos and because he was drunk, he offered to win the old mare back to save Athos from the lad's wrath. Finding the boy that Athos had played with easily, Porthos offered to raise the stakes to interest him.

However, half an hour later, he found himself losing almost as badly as his friend and was grasping at things he could wager. Hearing the boy say something to his friend, suddenly a brilliant idea popped into his wine addled brain and his lips split into a winning smile. Right away he offered to raise the stakes once more and betted Aramis for a week of practical slavery. Having Porthos describe to him in detail what his friend was like, Rémy admitted that the Mademoiselle he worked for could use his services and agreed on the bet. Porthos knew that he would win this time and threw; he scored a pitiful 5.

* * *

><p>Leaning onto each other since Porthos could barely walk anymore and even Athos couldn't maintain a straight line, the musketeers somehow managed to find their house without too much trouble and entered it loudly, waking poor Planchet up. Despite their protesting, he had managed to put them to their respective beds shortly, gasping for air as his masters strongly reeked of cheap wine and women.<p>

They blabbered on about dying tomorrow or some such, Porthos even said goodbye to Planchet with drunken tears in his eyes, though the servant wasn't really listening to them anyway, they had no idea what their names were let alone what was happening. Shaking his head as they began snoring loudly, he left to go back to sleep to catch a little more rest before his other two masters return early in the morning and demand breakfast.

* * *

><p>"YOU DID WHAT?"<p>

Porthos moaned loudly and grabbed his pounding head as D'Artagnan's sheer yell resonated through the room; it felt like somebody was stabbing his eyeballs from the inside while they scraped away at his brain with a spoon. He was slumped in a chair by the table, looking haggard and miserable after last night and cursing the fact that every sound was amplified at least tenfold. He could have sworn that his ears were ringing from the volume of the boy's voice that was only getting louder and more hysterical with each new syllable.

Even Athos was paler than usual, contrasting strongly with his dark hair and beard, making him appear sick. Unlike Porthos who was sitting, Athos was standing next to his large friend and looking at D'Artagnan over the table. He almost seemed to be shrinking under the tirade until he appeared to be 2 feet smaller than D'Artagnan despite his actual greater height. Aramis didn't come to their defence at all and instead opted to glare at them condescendingly from his usual spot by the fireplace.

"HOW COULD YOU?"

Athos just shrugged, there were no feelings lost between him and the mare, as a matter of fact they mostly hated each other's guts, but he felt guilty about aggravating the boy he considered a son so much. He decided that he would be man enough not to flinch away when D'Artagnan tried to hit him, he realized that it was more likely to happen than not. Before the explosive youth could attack though, Porthos cleared his throated and added that it wasn't all of it.

Turning disbelieving eyes to his friend, Aramis asked how it could get even worse; his tone showed clearly just how idiotic he thought they were whenever he let them out of his sight. Porthos wouldn't look up as he mumbled something none of them could make out. Ordering him to speak more clearly with his authoritative voice, Aramis wasn't quite prepared for the words that left his mouth.

"I tried to win Buttercup back but I um, well... I lost Aramis in the process."

"Lost me?"

"Yeah. You're um... going to join Buttercup and serve them for a week."

"I am **WHAT**?"

"Serve them, for a week. Those were the terms."

Aramis' calm demeanour changed in an instant, making him look positively murderous in that moment, ready to lunge at Porthos and beat his stupidity out of him with his fists. Athos barely managed to stop him from doing just that although his words would hardly win them any sympathy from the enraged musketeers.

"That's not all I'm afraid."

"There's more?"

Moving past Athos with lightning speed before the older man could even blink let alone react, Aramis grabbed Porthos by the collar of his shirt and forced him to stand up to avoid suffocation. He threatened bodily harm unless Porthos instantly explain what he meant, quite possibly going to beat him up anyway because of what he had to say.

"Yeah, um... we were kind of, er, drunk last night and we don't...um..."

"You don't?"

The words were spoken quietly but clearly and held the edge of danger that the other musketeers learned to recognize from many fights. Whenever he used it, Aramis' opponents were lucky if they died quickly; most of them were unlucky and suffered a fate that the others didn't want to know about to avoid nightmares. Porthos gulped as he felt the sweat running down his face.

"They wanted one of you for labour and the other for sex but we can't remember which for what?"

Porthos tried to smile unconvincingly at Aramis and almost lost his front teeth with the force of the priest's punch that landed right between them. The momentum carried him over the chair before he crashed onto the ground loudly a few feet away, curling into a little ball despite his size in hopes of protecting his vital organs from the attack that would undoubtedly follow.

Athos acted quickly and grabbed onto the fuming priest trying to hold him off of Porthos though Aramis squirmed out of his grasp enough to land a few hard kicks onto Porthos' back anyway. Looking at the scene before him, D'Artagnan was considering helping Aramis out and deal a few kicks of his own to his _friends_.

"Buttercup is no whore to be sold into sexual slavery!"

Aramis stopped struggling and turned his burning gaze onto the young boy.

"And _I_ am?"

"Er..."

Athos had even more trouble holding the furious man at bay, receiving an elbow to his stomach and a stomp on his right foot, while D'Artagnan realized his mistake and considered running away before Aramis jumped over the table. However, he was still angry enough at the two because of what they had gotten Buttercup into and stayed, attempting to placate the priest or at least divert his attention as he looked angrily at the pitiful lump formerly known as Porthos on the floor.

"Neither Buttercup nor Aramis are possessions you can gamble with!"

The manoeuvre didn't work as well as he had hoped it would since Aramis was still glaring at him, especially since D'Artagnan put Buttercup first and his friend second. However he wasn't struggling against Athos' hold anymore, not that Athos let him go just yet, and simply continued piercing both the boy and Porthos with his burning gaze.

"I refuse to go along with this insanity!"

Knowing that Aramis wouldn't stay still for much longer, Athos put his arms tightly around his friend, holding the priest's hands down to avoid more fighting. He was practically hugging him and had the situation been different, Porthos would almost find it cute and crack a joke about it.

"I'm afraid you will have to dear Aramis, we swore on our honour and you have to respect that."

Knowing that his arms were trapped and that Athos would move his feet away from harm this time, Aramis used the only means of attack he had left and butted his head right into Athos's nose. The older musketeer yelped in pain and let him go to grab onto the now bleeding and quite possibly broken nose. Aramis jumped away, far beyond his reach, and looked at him without compassion.

"On your honour? What do I care for it, you keep the promise you gave and go serve them yourselves!"

"Aramis my friend, be reasonable!"

Aramis' attention back on him, Porthos got up quickly and despite his larger frame attempted to hide behind Athos who was trying and failing to stop the blood flow. D'Artagnan handed him a rag to help out although his face was stone cold as he did it; admittedly, he did feel a small amount of satisfaction from the attack.

"We promised them _you_, they want you and no one else. We can't go instead!"

"Over my cold dead body."

* * *

><p>Rémy looked down at the bound and gagged man by his feet uncertainly even though Porthos attempted to assure him that it really was Aramis and that he would come willingly to fill their end of the agreement. Athos was outside watching as D'Artagnan all but hugged his beloved Buttercup, apologizing to her excessively for his stupid friends and what they had gotten her into. He made sure to stand further away so that the cursed mare wouldn't try and kick him as she passed by; it was enough that Aramis had targeted him and successfully broken his nose.<p>

In front of their house, a carriage waited for Rémy and Aramis, inside which the Mademoiselle currently sat and watched everything with amusement. As they had found out, her name was Marguerite d'Perche and together with her senile and dying bedbound husband, they owned a considerable piece of land somewhere in the North of the Duchy of Alençon.

Though Athos would never try and guess the real age of any woman since it wouldn't be appropriate, he noticed that the times of her youth had long past when he got a good look at her because she had called him and requested his help to step out of the carriage; apparently she wanted to observe the process more closely. While he didn't care too much for women generally speaking, even Athos had to admit that she was hardly the type that throngs of men fell for.

Even in her youth she couldn't have been too attractive but now with her age, her features were even more pronounced. The hair that was framing her angular face was almost completely white and appeared thinner in places although it was styled to cover these shortcomings. Her eyes were close together and small though bright, her brow unshapely and her eagle nose dominated her face with its sheer size.

Below it, there was a thin line of lips that seemed to be permanently frozen in a smirk. Her neck was short, made shorter still with her double chin and it was clear that the only thing keeping her bust from losing to gravity was the tightly cinched corset. She was short but stocky and giving her one more inconspicuous look, Athos really hoped that she wanted Aramis for the labour.

D'Artagnan turned around after petting Buttercup and almost yelped in fright as he saw her, only hiding the sound behind a cough making Athos give him a pointed look for his rudeness. She walked up to Buttercup and asked D'Artagnan about her; even her voice sounded amused and reminded D'Artagnan of the mock voices his father used to adopt as he told his 5 years old son tales of witches and magic.

He did his best to answer everything, making sure to praise the mare as much as possible. She listened intently and smiled at the boy, revealing a pair of crooked yellow teeth, accepting the boy's every word despite Buttercup's less than spectacular appearance. D'Artagnan hoped to find out from her questions what she planned to do with his beloved horse but he wasn't too successful.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the front door being opened and the spectacle of Porthos and Rémy carrying the bound Aramis into the carriage. The man was struggling wildly but it was to no avail; Marguerite was watching it all with interest until the moment they lay him down onto the carriage floor. Rémy helped her back inside where she looked Aramis over appraisingly and turned to the other three musketeers with a leery smile that made them all shudder and feel very bad for their priest friend.

"He will most definitely do."

His gagged screams could be faintly heard when they said their goodbyes and watched the carriage door closing; with Buttercup close by, the procession left. Looking on long after the carriage disappeared from their sight, the three friends remained outside. Hoping that Buttercup would be ok, D'Artagnan turned to the musketeers and spoke with a voice that didn't show much sympathy.

"Aramis is going to kill you."

"Yes."

"In a very slow and incredibly painful torturous way."

"Yes."

"Athos, Porthos, it was good knowing you."


	16. Athos, Buttercup & Porthos, Aramis Part2

_A/N Since I got positive votes, I decided to write some more. As a matter of fact, there will be at least one more chapter to this... also, earlier today I realized that this is practically dub/non-con albeit humorous one so yeah, I don't go too graphic but consider yourselves warned :P_

_Also, the story I had planned next will have to wait yet again as it involves more Aramis torture so there needs to be torture of others before that :P After a rather interesting chat with Lady Wallace, chances are that Buckingham will get the spotlight soon though if you would like to read about others, do let me know and I'll see what I can do!_

_Also, since my reviews are a bit down I thought I'd do something extra for the lovely lovely ladies that take the time to comment. __**Lady Wallace**__, __**Umeko**__, __**Sheila Chiaroscura**__, do feel free to request a shorter fic idea you would like to read, whether it fits with the "lost" concept or not, and I'll include it in a special extras/outtakes/alternate versions chapter. You gals rock!_

_And with that, torture ahoy, may you enjoy! :P _

* * *

><p>The first evening without Aramis and Buttercup was an uncomfortable affair in the musketeer household. D'Artagnan was still angry at Athos and Porthos and refused to talk to them, instead he left without a word to go find Constance to spend time with or at least an unsuspecting Cardinal's guard to beat up. Athos was feeling bad for Aramis after having taken a good look at the woman he had to serve and tried to drink the memory away with several bottles of wine; after all, his days of heavy drinking would be over once the abused priest came back.<p>

Porthos knew he wouldn't be able to sleep as his imagination attempted to guess what Aramis would do to him once he returned; he knew he was nowhere near as creative as the priest could be and yet the images flashing through his mind were terrifying. He also didn't particularly feel like going out and so he stayed up with Athos. Planchet varied between filling their every wish to stay alive and hiding from his masters; if they could do that to one of their own, who knew what they wouldn't hesitate to do to their servant.

At the same time, the carriage with Aramis, Rémy and Marguerite d'Perche stopped in a village to rest for the night as they had covered about a quarter of their journey that day. Aramis had found out that not only was he won for a week of service, the terms were such that the week only included his stay in the d'Perche estate and not the travel as well, during which he was still expected to serve, so technically, he would be a slave for a week and a half and away from home for two.

Exiting the carriage, Rémy went to check if the local inn would provide acceptable accommodation for the Mademoiselle, leaving her alone with Aramis. Earlier during the ride, the priest had been allowed to sit next to the boy opposite Marguerite and was doing his best not to shudder when he felt her eyes roaming appreciatively over his body while he looked out of the window at the passing countryside. Her gaze had a tendency to stop at certain crucial spots that no lady should openly stare at.

About 2 hours after they had left Paris, when it was too far away to run back, they had untied him and taken out the gag. Just to be safe before they cut the ropes, Marguerite explained in no uncertain terms that running away from her would be a bad idea if Aramis wanted to ever see his friends again. She said it with a smile but her tone sent a chill down his spine and while he wanted Athos and Porthos dead, he wanted to do the honours himself. Plus, there was always D'Artagnan who was innocent in the whole matter so grudgingly he accepted his fate for now.

Once she was sure he wouldn't attempt to escape, she tried to engage him in small talk that Rémy politely blocked out. She had all but forced him to call her Marguerite in private, forsaking the rest of her name, her title or indeed good etiquette in the process. She had enquired about his life as a priest and as a musketeer and while he did his best to answer politely, he didn't elaborate on anything lest it be used against him later on. After all, Treville taught them that when captured by the enemy, a musketeer shouldn't reveal anything during the interrogation.

She leered at him openly as she remarked that she had heard the musketeers were quite the ladies men in Paris, making Aramis blush hard at both the rumour and the fact that she seemed to be happy about it and would put it to test immediately once given the chance. By now it was fairly clear that Buttercup would be the lucky one to have to deal with the labour; never in his life did Aramis wish to be a horse more than the moment he realized that he was utterly screwed, in all senses of the word.

Back in the village, Rémy returned smiling and told Marguerite that the inn would do. She signalled for Aramis to go first and he didn't think too much of it until she cupped a good grope of his ass when he bent over to exit the carriage, making him hit his head on the ceiling in shock. She didn't move her hand away until the moment he stepped off rubbing his head and he sent a silent prayer to God for Rochefort, Milady or even Buckingham to come and kill him or at least abduct him. He'd gladly take the racks right about now.

Once Rémy helped her out and ordered the driver to take care of the horses, Buttercup included, so they would be ready to ride out in the morning, he revealed that he had only managed to purchase 2 rooms for them to sleep in. Aramis knew that he would have to share one but against all hope he prayed that it would be with Rémy; one look at Marguerite's beaming wrinkly face crushed all of his hopes. Promising bloody, violent, slow and extremely painful retribution to the idiots that had gotten him into this, he followed Rémy into the inn like a man about to step onto the gallows. It didn't help that Marguerite latched herself onto him claiming she needed the extra support on the uneven dirt.

They searched for bit until they found a reasonably clean table in the fairly busy inn, Aramis was glad that it was practically in a corner so less people had a good view of them, and ordered dinner right away. When the food arrived Aramis felt like the main model for da Vinci's Last Supper, he knew exactly who played the role of Judas in his tale, and wondered why he had to suffer for the sins of others. Although the food wasn't anything spectacular, he ate it without complaint, grateful for the fact that Marguerite seemed to behave while in public.

He reconsidered that statement a few minutes later as he felt her hand resting on his thigh and starting a slow journey up, hidden under the table. He almost swallowed his spoon at the first contact and lost all appetite when it became clear that she wouldn't stop short of her goal. It took all of his skill not to let his disgust show on his face and pretend that nothing was wrong, especially since Rémy attempted to strike a conversation with him, innocent and unknowing of what was happening.

Aramis' voice hitched up once or twice when she caressed a particularly sensitive spot and quickly he realized that he was stuck between a hard place and a rock. He could either finish his dinner quickly before she touched what he never wanted her to touch and be forced to retreat to their chambers where he would have to do who knows what or he could keep on eating and get fondled by the old hag intimately while on display to anybody who would look under.

In the end, vanity won over insecurity and he decided that while whatever came once they retreated, at least it would be private and nobody would ever find out about it while here he felt like everybody could see exactly what she was doing. He finished the food quickly claiming that he was full, Marguerite was all too fast to catch on and ordered the small group to call it a night since she was supposedly tired. Breathing a relieved sigh when he stood up, Aramis was happy about the fact that she had to stop her previous activity at least for a little. Once this was all over, he would bathe for a week scrubbing his skin raw.

Praising Rémy as a saint when he saw the young boy offering his assistance to the hag, he followed them up the stairs to their rooms. Not giving up just yet, he stayed close to Rémy in case he really would be allowed to share with him, hell, he wasn't above begging to be left in the stable with the horses. However, Marguerite told him to help her out with something that needed his _special_ assistance and beckoned him into her room with a large smile that promised nothing good.

He entered reluctantly and heard the sound of the door shutting behind him louder than any bullet that had ever been shot at him in the past. Finally alone, Marguerite didn't lose any time before she drew the curtains and turned her back to Aramis, ordering him to help her out of the corset. Feeling his whole skin crawl, Aramis stepped up to her and began unlacing the tight garment, doing his best to block out the pleasure filled sounds she was making as he gradually freed her from the confinement.

He took as long as he could get away with to hang the corset in the small wardrobe in the corner, appreciating the fine craftsmanship instead of turning around and seeing what would undoubtedly haunt his dreams for years. Her far too sweet voice ordered him to do just that though and he was forced to obey. When he faced her once more, he noticed that she had lain down on the bed with a mockery of a come hither look on her face and beckoned him closer with her index finger. Thankfully she still had all of her skirts and her undergarments on though Aramis had the bad feeling that it wouldn't last forever.

"Undress me master musketeer, though be slow and gentle with me please, I am but a shy maiden."

Aramis highly doubted that, especially since she seemed happy about winning a man into practical sexual slavery and had used every opportunity to grope him so far. Pushing his mental abilities to their limits, he tried to imagine it wasn't Marguerite d'Perche that he was undressing but instead a beautiful young mademoiselle that he was so famous for courting back in lovely Paris. It wasn't working too well sadly as Marguerite seemed to uncover his plan and made sure to remind him it was indeed just her whenever his eyes glossed over too much or he got rid of a layer of her clothes.

By the time he had managed to take the last piece of clothing off of her, he wished to poke his eyes out with a fork all the while knowing that what had been seen cannot be unseen and that there was a very good reason why he liked his lovers to be young. He didn't have too many preferences when it came to skin, hair or eye shade, nor was he too picky with the weight of his lovers but he preferred a pair of nice breasts that still held the upper hand over gravity. Marguerite's breasts had sadly been losing that battle for years, the war that had been lost down below Aramis didn't even want to think about.

Climbing off of her, he couldn't quite suppress the shudder when she told him to undress himself, slowly. He felt incredibly exposed as she nestled into the covers to get both more comfortable and have a better view of him. He wasn't sure his _equipment_ wouldn't try and crawl inside his pelvis as he felt her hungry eyes drinking in every new inch of exposed skin as he got rid of his clothes, the last barrier he had left, one piece at a time.

She all but wolf whistled when he had to bend over to pull off his breaches giving her a good view of his derriere and he could swear that she was practically drooling at the young man in his prime that she couldn't get into her bed any other way anymore, if ever. Smiling broadly when she got her first good look at Aramis in the nude as he turned back around, her eyes were fixed to a single spot, Marguerite once again muttered almost breathlessly that he would really really do and told him to come closer...

* * *

><p>The next morning, after Aramis had helped put Marguerite back into her robes after a night that made him feel dirtier than if he had been forced to pleasure 20 of Rochefort's men, he had been allowed a few minutes of alone time as she left to finish the preparations. She told Rémy to ride Buttercup so that they could have privacy in the carriage with Aramis; the musketeer had performed admirably last night and she wasn't sure she could stay away from him for long, her whole body was still tingling making her crave more.<p>

Once Aramis joined them, Rémy noted that the poor man was much paler than yesterday and wouldn't meet anybody's eyes even when spoken to. He looked positively alarmed when he saw Rémy on the mare, quickly realizing what that would mean for him. The boy lost any claim at sainthood in the priest's eyes due to this treachery and he considered shooting himself when Marguerite smiled at him from inside the carriage. He was honestly weighting the value of his former friends' lives against whatever that demon would do to him once they were alone.

He must have found something in them worth saving though since he braced himself and entered the carriage with as much dignity as he could muster. Once again the door closed behind him sealing his fate, he noticed that the curtains had been drawn to ensure that nobody could see inside. He heard Rémy's command to move out and felt the jolt of the carriage being pulled into motion by the horses. He tried his best to ignore the woman sitting opposite him though it was harder now that he had been robbed of the excuse of watching the scenery. She would have none of that and ordered him to come sit next to her in a voice that broke no argument.

Dreading what would surely happen, Aramis did just that, noting that she leaned into him heavily despite the seat offering much more space than they occupied in that position. She rested her balding head on his shoulder and sighed happily as she closed her eyes. He tensed as he felt her fingers unbuttoning his jacket completely and pushing it aside so that her hand could roam over his chest freely, he had been instructed not to wear a shirt underneath it before she left the room in the morning.

She mapped his skin almost lovingly and had it been the hand of a young maiden instead, Aramis would feel like the luckiest man in France. Like this however, he had to force himself not to jump away as she traced his scars and lean muscles to her heart's content all the while muttering about how well defined the body of a musketeer was. He kept on replaying the torture he had started to plan for Athos and Porthos in his head to try and force his mind not to register the possessive caressing.

Soon, her hand began dipping below his navel again without going back up and Aramis wondered if her voice was supposed to sound sultry when she told him that they would be riding undisturbed for a few hours before their first break; to him the implications sounded as sexy as watching Planchet washing Porthos' dirty underwear. Closing his eyes in prayer, he wished for the strength to endure as she told him far more specifically what they would do to pass the time until they arrived to the next inn.

* * *

><p>Porthos thought that things couldn't get any worse; D'Artagnan still wasn't talking with them and he had lost a day of his soon to be cut short life already when Treville called the inseparables to come pay him a visit. It was bad when they had been told to leave right away, all four of them. Even Athos didn't look as collected as he normally did although D'Artagnan clearly couldn't hide the smirk he was sporting. All of them were sure that Treville wouldn't take the news of what happened to one of his best musketeers well.<p>

Walking up the stairs to reach the room where Treville usually held all of his meetings was much more difficult than facing 200 Cardinal's guards for the two older musketeers while the youngest felt better with every step. By the time they entered, Treville knew something was wrong. First of all he noticed that Aramis was suspiciously absent despite the order being that all four were to arrive, D'Artagnan looked almost smug while Porthos and Athos attempted to blend in with their surroundings making him feel even more worried.

"Did something happen to monsieur Aramis?"

He could see the sweat running down Porthos' face as neither of the senior musketeers met his eyes. He turned to D'Artagnan since the young man was at least looking at him but he only shrugged.

"I think it would be best if Athos or Porthos explained monsieur Treville."

He really didn't like this as he watched the two men struggling to find the right words.

"I am asking again. Athos, Porthos, what is wrong with Aramis that he couldn't come when I called?"

"Um, monsieur Treville, Aramis is er..."

Porthos couldn't seem to find the right word so Athos attempted to help him out.

"Indisposed."

"Indisposed?"

"Indeed monsieur."

As if he would let them off the hook so easily. He was their captain and as such felt responsible for every single one of his musketeers. He preferred to be informed when something happened to any of his men to make them, as Athos put it, indisposed.

"How so?"

Porthos wiped his brow with a handkerchief nervously which only served to remind him of his friend and feel even worse about having to tell Treville the truth.

"Um, 2 nights ago, Aramis and D'Artagnan had night patrol."

"I am well aware of that fact Porthos. Did something happen to Aramis during it that I wasn't informed of? I was under the impression that nothing unusual occurred."

He turned his curious eyes back to D'Artagnan wondering why he hadn't been notified by him immediately after their patrol ended.

"No monsieur Treville, the patrol went by uneventfully. However the same can't be said about Athos' and Porthos' evening."

Wondering how Aramis could have been affected by whatever his friends did in their free time, Treville remembered that he was dealing with the inseparables which meant that nothing was impossible, no matter how implausible.

"I see. Perhaps you would like to enlighten me Athos?"

It was odd seeing the noble man studying the curtains on the window above and slightly to the right of Treville's head, usually it wasn't him that needed scolding like a little child.

"I was engaged in a game of dice with a boy and managed to lose terribly. Attempting to win the money back, I bet D'Artagnan's horse. I lost."

Raising an eyebrow at the unofficial leader of the four musketeers, Treville wasn't quite sure what to think about this. He was hardly surprised that Athos indulged in such a game on his night off, as a matter of fact he encouraged his musketeers to use the little free time they had in similar ways, but the idea of betting somebody else's horse didn't sit well with him.

"You played for D'Artagnan's horse that you have no claim at possessing in the first place?"

"Yes monsieur Treville."

"Oh it gets better."

Porthos glared at the lad that was clearly trying to get them killed and enjoying every minute of it as Athos turned to him, expecting him to continue the tale from there.

"I um, you see monsieur Treville, I wanted to help Athos out and win Buttercup and his money back. The boy had the luck of the devil on his side though and I lost as well."

"I see. However I am not sure how all of this ties into Aramis not standing here with you."

"I um... might have sort of lost Aramis in the game?"

Treville was sure that he had heard the giant wrong. Surely, not even Porthos would be stupid enough to bet his best friend in a game of dice and lose him? No, he refused to believe that any of his musketeers were capable of such idiocy and irresponsibility. However, Porthos looked like he was about to be executed, Athos looked fairly distressed, for him anyway, and D'Artagnan had the glint of righteous anger in his eyes.

This wasn't happening, it was just a nightmare that came from having to battle Richelieu in a game of wits to win Louis' sympathies. Or maybe there had been something in his food to cause hallucinations? Either way, the headache that he was associating with the inseparables began forming.

D'Artagnan and Athos watched as Treville's face acquired an angry red tone and the vein on his forehead that had a tendency to rise up whenever he had to scold them for something they had done was coming forth in full effect. Porthos still refused to look up and instead found his boots very interesting to look at, they contrasted quite nicely with the floor.

"Let me get this straight. You managed to get drunk, surely you had to be to do anything even remotely similar to what you are claiming, lost several games of dice that made you short of one horse and a friend that is the King's musketeer? Just how irresponsible are you? Not only did you commit a great crime against a friend but you are actively endangering the safety of the King, Queen and France by losing one of our best musketeers to who knows whom?"

Treville's voice started out sounding similar to Aramis' from 3 days ago though with each new sentence it was gaining in volume and anger, making the two guilty musketeers hang their heads in shame.

"Aren't you even mildly concerned about his well being? Why haven't you gone after him to save your friend?"

"We swore on our honour that he would serve for a week. And we know who he has to serve."

"I'm starting to doubt you have any honour in you but good. Tell me who you had managed to lose Aramis to."

"Mademoiselle Marguerite d'Perche monsieur."

"Marguerite d'-"

Treville vaguely remembered meeting an older mademoiselle of that name a few days prior that made him want to shudder after spending more than 5 minutes in her presence. He didn't like the way she was eyeing his musketeers in the least, nor the type of questions she asked about them during her visit. Realizing what a woman like her could want with a man of Aramis' looks, he felt instant sympathy for the musketeer.

"I feel you ought to be punished severely for your unfathomable recklessness. However, I can't think of anything more fitting than to hold you for Aramis when he gets back and let him do to you as he sees fit. Porthos, Athos, I expected better of you and have to say I don't feel sorry in the least for having to send you on this particular mission."


	17. Athos, Buttercup & Porthos, Aramis Part3

_A/N Ok, I have a few things I want to say. First, this story is becoming way longer than I originally anticipated and now I have absolutely no idea how many parts there will be. Second, from now on there will be several OCs involved and while I think it's necessary to have them, I'll understand if you won't be too interested in them and lose track. I can post a list of names and short descriptions at the end of every chapter if you would like to hopefully make it a bit easier. Third, from now on, each chapter will probably be divided into 2 parts – one with Aramis and Buttercup and the other with the remaining musketeers on their mission. I can't promise it will always be like this or what the ratio of length between them will be because I honestly don't know._

_Also, I've been suffering through a bit of a writer's block generally speaking and with this story in particular so please do bear with me if I don't update as often as usual. I know that this is mostly a filler chapter but I think it's necessary to start establishing all of the new characters that our lovely heroes will get to interact with; hopefully, the next part will have more stuff happening._

_Anyway, enjoy! _

* * *

><p>2 days later around afternoon, the carriage with Marguerite d'Perche, Rémy and Aramis finally reached the outskirts of the d'Perche estate. It wasn't the greatest land Aramis had ever seen but even he had to admit that the air was fresh, the grass was a deep green and the people seemed content if a bit sad. Rémy had explained that it was because everyone knew that Pépin d'Perche, Marguerite's husband, was slowly dying before their eyes. Once again, Aramis was reminded of just how inappropriate it was to bring him here considering the circumstances but there was little he could about it but feel even dirtier, if that was possible.<p>

Slowly passing through the estate, Aramis got a good view of the fields that Buttercup would probably have to work on or around, a small lake that looked really inviting until the moment Marguerite whispered into his ear about how they would go for a midnight swim dressed only in the moonlight, the forest full of deer that Rémy bragged about and a few smaller houses until they reached their final destination.

It was clear that at one point, Marguerite and her husband had lived well; the house was lavish for just two and their servants, undoubtedly they had hosted many an event in years past. However now, it was starting to show the age and lack of interest that it had been suffering from. Parts looked completely abandoned and Aramis imagined many of the rooms filled with a thick layer of dust on ornate furniture, the air damp from lack of venting. Marguerite didn't seem too eager to tell him much about the property and its inhabitants so Rémy took it upon himself.

By the time they stopped before the entrance, Aramis had found out that it held almost 10 bedrooms, although they hadn't really been used all that much lately besides the one of Marguerite and Pépin and an extra one that Marguerite used when Pépin wasn't in the mood to share with anyone; Aramis just knew which one he would probably be staying in during his visit.

The servants currently staying in the house consisted of Rémy who did just about everything that needed to be done, 3 maids for Marguerite that were the daughters of the cook, 2 nurses that were in the house at all times to help with Pépin with a few more that sometimes stayed that came from _Alençon._ The rest that generally took care of the horses, the fields or anything else that needed work lived in the small houses they had passed earlier.

The carriage stopped and Rémy helped Marguerite exit it, Aramis was mildly surprised that he hadn't been groped at all though he supposed there were too many people around for Marguerite to risk it. He joined them outside and before he followed them into the house, he walked up to Buttercup and gently caressed her neck in goodbye, wishing her to have an easier stay than he would. He watched with sad eyes as she was led away by one of the stable boys, vowing to go see her any chance he got for at least a taste of home.

Once Buttercup disappeared from his sight, he braced himself and he followed Rémy and Marguerite inside the house where he would be staying for the next week. Immediately, they were greeted by two of the young maids, Aramis was told that their names were Donatienne and Gabrielle. Donatienne was the older and shorter of the two, Gabrielle actually reached Aramis' chin, with black hair and fairly stern brown eyes. Gabrielle had long brown hair and grey eyes that were much softer than Donatienne's. Despite the differences in their body shapes, hair and eye colours, it was clear from their facial features that they were indeed sisters and Aramis had to admit, they weren't too bad to look at.

They had greeted Marguerite enthusiastically though they weren't quite sure what to make of Aramis, especially when they were told to prepare a bedroom for him since he would be staying for a week. Marguerite didn't elaborate on the reasons for his visit and they were too polite to ask, instead acknowledging the request with Donatienne going to clean the room to make it usable and Gabrielle leading the group to the dining room, promising to bring some snacks to them shortly. Rémy explained that they were sisters together with the third maid Aramis had yet to see, Rosalie, and that all were daughters of Alaina who had been a cook for the d'Perche family longer than Rémy had been alive.

Humming in acknowledgement, Aramis wanted to ask more but was interrupted by Gabrielle's arrival. She carried two trays, one with some bread and cheese and the other with something Aramis couldn't indentify but which was clearly sweet that Marguerite delved into right away. Moments later, wine had been offered and knowing he would need it for whatever Marguerite had planned, Aramis accepted. At least it was a decent vintage, he had to give them that much.

When they were done eating, a middle aged woman entered the dining room. She was almost as small and stocky as Marguerite though on her it was just charming. Her hair was black like Donatienne's and her eyes were a very friendly brown. It was easy to see who the girls inherited their good looks from. She was smiling brightly, greeting Marguerite like a long lost friend and seemed excited at the prospect of a guest, especially one like Aramis.

Right away she started naming delicacies that she would prepare in honour of the guest making Aramis smile at her enthusiasm. Looking him over critically, she rambled on about how slim the young musketeer looked and that she would have to change that as it wasn't acceptable for such a fine monsieur to suffer from hunger on her watch.

Still going on about what she would prepare for dinner, she hurriedly left the dining room to start cooking, making the company fall into silence as the echo of her voice disappeared. Turning back to Aramis once he stopped chuckling, Rémy explained that that's how Alaina usually behaved and that if she set her mind onto fattening Aramis up, she would most probably succeed. Once they were done, Marguerite told Rémy to give their guest a complete tour if he so wished and bid them goodbye to go to Pépin. Her eyes promised to find Aramis later on no matter where he would try to hide.

Accepting the offer to get his mind off of that woman, Aramis followed the young boy as he rambled on about the house and the guests it once used to hold. Upon request, Rémy took him to the stables where Aramis met with Buttercup once more. It was too late to put her to work though he noticed that her coat had been brushed and she had been fed. Not liking the fact that she didn't know anybody in this new place and that her master was far away, she seemed happy when she noticed Aramis and nuzzled his outstretched hand when he came to her stall.

"You doing ok girl? Seems like they're treating you right so far."

She neighed as if to agree and allowed him to pet her as much as he wanted. However the visit had been cut short when Donatienne arrived and said that Madame Marguerite was waiting for Aramis in his chambers and wanted to talk to him urgently. She was polite as she said it but Aramis didn't miss the underlying tone of hostility in her voice, neither did Buttercup. He felt her body preparing to charge and caressed her neck once more to let her know that it was ok, promising to come visit her again soon before he followed the maid outside.

She led him to his chambers, he noted that they were right next to Marguerite's own private ones, and all but glared at him as he entered. Aramis was starting to feel that she was getting certain ideas about his stay, especially when he saw the door that seemingly connected his room to Marguerite's. She probably thought that he was after her mistress' money and went as far as to stay with them under the same roof as Pépin d'Perche. The appreciative look Marguerite gave him couldn't have helped and he swore he felt the girl's eyes stabbing his back viciously. If only he could tell her the truth about the situation.

Alas, Marguerite told her that it was all and that she would like to talk to monsieur Aramis in private now. Bowing, Donatienne left making Aramis feel very exposed all of a sudden as Marguerite circled him slowly, running her hands over his torso freely now that nobody could see. Finishing the circle, she sighed and rested her head on his chest, leaning into his body almost making him stumble under the new weight.

"I missed you monsieur musketeer. We have a few more hours that we have to spend apart but in the evening, when everybody goes to sleep, we can finally be together again."

Aramis felt some relief when he was told that he wouldn't have to do anything for a while longer and let that blasted woman put his arms around her torso in an embrace. Indulging herself a little longer, Marguerite moved away to show him his new abode. Aramis looked at it half-heartedly, it didn't matter much to him since it had a bed a wardrobe and a desk, the rest was unimportant. Not that he would be using many of those anyway.

"See that door monsieur musketeer?"

He nodded his head in confirmation.

"Normally it's locked and during the day I will keep it so to avoid suspicion but at night, I shall unlock it and wait eagerly for your visit. You have showed me heaven padre and I can't wait to ascend to the stars with you again."

He wasn't sure if he would shudder at the memory of their last time or laugh at her words and so he simply nodded again knowing that there was no escaping what she wanted to happen. He doubted they would get to keep it a secret though as the mere fact of which room had been chosen for him implied ulterior motives but he would let her live in her fantasy. After all, he would be gone in a week and hopefully never meet any of these people again in his life so it mattered little what they would think of him.

The sound of steps was heard and soon, Rémy knocked on the door announcing from behind it that dinner was ready to be served. Pulling Aramis down for a quick kiss that caught him off guard, especially when he felt her tongue sneaking inside, Marguerite winked at the flustered priest and left the room taking Rémy with her. Wondering if he could get away with burning his tongue off, Aramis wiped his lips and went on his way as well; his appetite had just been brutally murdered but maybe Alaina had prepared something that would renew it. The delicious smell that was getting stronger the closer he was to the dining room gave him hope.

* * *

><p>Earlier that same day, the remaining musketeers had ridden out of Paris to escort the nobles. Riding ahead of the lavish carriage, Athos was currently pondering their situation and all but fuming in anger. Far as he was concerned, Treville HAD to be joking! Surely, this couldn't be their <em>mission<em>? Before he could curse the captain anymore, Athos felt his blood boiling when he heard the high-pitched voice calling his name again. Forcing a grimace faintly resembling a smile onto his face, he slowed his horse so that he would be side by side with the carriage and turned to the child that was half hanging out of the window and looking up at him with eager eyes.

"You have such a lovely horse monsieur Athos! When I grow up, I'll have one just like it. And I'll ride it all day, every day as you get to do. And I'll visit many places like you do. And I'll meet new interesting people like you. And I'll ride to adventures and I'll –"

Athos had already zoned out for the sake of his sanity though he made sure to nod at appropriate places so he wouldn't be found out. He wished for nothing more than to throttle the little devil's spawn that they had to escort. He was around 5 and due to his royal blood, Louis thought it best to have his musketeers accompany the boy with his sister to ensure their safety and Treville agreed. However, what he hadn't told them was that their charge would be so young and do everything within his power to get on Athos' last nerve, especially with that whiny voice of his.

Normally, kids seemed to latch either onto D'Artagnan or Aramis but this devil ignored the young Gascon completely and Aramis wasn't there; for some odd reason the child seemed to pick up Athos instead and wouldn't leave him be for more than 10 consecutive minutes. He was either talking about his dreams, or asking stupid questions about being a musketeer, requesting a pee break, demanding food, demanding stories, demanding attention and throwing a hissy fit when Athos didn't comply. He had forced Athos to promise that he would let him ride his stallion the next day much to Athos' chagrin. And worst of all, he had ordered Athos to share a room with him in the inn they would stop at later.

At first Porthos had been laughing at his friend's predicament but that changed the moment they went to pick up his 13 years old sister who seemed to fall in love with the large man right away and alternated between blushing when he was near and trying to strike up a conversation even Porthos felt too dirty to have with a girl so young. Thankfully she couldn't request he stay with her at night but Porthos still didn't like the fact that she didn't want to be farther away from him than a few meters at any given time.

In the back, D'Artagnan watched it all while riding Aramis' horse and enjoyed every minute of it. He made sure to memorize as many details as possible to retell Aramis once the priest returned, he had a feeling his friend would like to know all about their little mission. He couldn't help but chuckle as he noticed the girl handing Porthos a handkerchief inconspicuously, making his friend look at it in confusion before the implications clicked in his mind. Tersely, he accepted the offering and forced a smile of his own onto his face that was as fake as Athos'. Oh yes, D'Artagnan had the feeling that this mission would be fun!


End file.
